


A Tangled Web

by UndyingEmbers



Category: Pathfinder: Kingmaker (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Barbarian OC, F/F, F/M, Pining, Romance, Unrequited Love, chaotic good oc
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2020-04-10
Packaged: 2020-05-18 15:37:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 57,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19337464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UndyingEmbers/pseuds/UndyingEmbers
Summary: Neither Tristian nor Nyrissa thought that this oafish human woman with no power to speak of would last very long against the nymph’s machinations, and yet not only does the new baroness triumph time and time again, but they both find themselves inexplicably drawn to her.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> When I first played the game, I had no idea that Nyrissa could be romanced, so I accidentally stumbled into the romance path (I was roleplaying my character as someone who really just wanted to get through to Nyrissa and wanted to break her curse). Then she comes into the throne room and declares she loves my character and I'm like ???

A new creature fell into Nyrissa’s snare. Excellent. It was only a matter of time before the Stag fell as so many before him have done. The nymph had waited impatiently for one of the neighboring kingdoms to do something about the increasingly powerful bandit threat in the Stolen Lands, and it seemed that it had fallen on the Brevans to the north to send someone.

Nyrissa’s sight fell on one in particular. There were three others: the Eagle of Dunsward, the Toad of Glennebon, and the little pawn from Pitax. They will all crumble to dust, make no mistake, but for the moment, the woman was more pertinent to her plans, the one who was sent to deal with the Stag Lord himself.

Nyrissa watched the party of four: a grumpy dwarf, the sweetest little halfling bard Nyrissa had ever seen, and two barbarian women. She watched as they walked into the Stolen Lands with foolish hope on their faces. Few things were as sweet as a new beginning. No doubt those fools were eager to get on their adventure. The making of a new land was on the horizon.

One of the barbarian women, their leader, piqued Nyrissa’s interest. She was tall and muscle-bound, with an easy smile on her face and scars on her body. She was accompanied by a dog, a large mutt who seemed just as dangerous as his mistress. Yes, a hound would suit this woman just fine, a determined and driven animal to chase after its master’s prey. How delightful. And that look on the woman’s face, fierce, proud, and determined, driven, full of hope. It reminded Nyrissa of…

No. Nyrissa must not think of it. If her new pet was anything like her, then she will fall more easily than Nyrissa thought. If Nyrissa had failed in building her old kingdom, then this pathetic mortal (and a lowly human at that) would have absolutely no hope.

Nyrissa observed the group as they made camp. She needed to know what leash to collar her new Hound with. Conveniently enough, the sweet bard, a darling little Robin, was writing a book about the daring heroine and had sat her down for an interview, though “sat” wasn’t exactly the precise word, as the Robin fidgeted and fiddled around with her papers and inks.

“So now that we actually have a few minutes,” said the Robin. “You just have to tell me how you got into the adventuring business, why you decided to go to Jamandi’s mansion, and what you plan on doing next.”

The Hound laughed along with the Robin’s enthusiasm. She was sitting against a log, her mutt resting on her lap. “Where to begin. I grew up in a druid enclave. I wasn’t cut out to be a druid myself, so instead I trained to be one of the guardians protecting the forest. The other warriors mimicked the raw strength and ferocity of the beasts around them, and we were very well-versed in the ways of nature and survival. We even picked up a few tricks from the druids.” She scratched her dog behind the ears. How amusing. Nyrissa’s Hound had a hound of her own. So, this woman was close to nature, then. Nyrissa could work that into her trap.

“Why did you leave?” asked the Robin.

The leader’s smile immediately fell, replaced with an expression of sadness and anger. “Bandits attacked the nearby village. There weren’t many survivors.”

“Oh, how sad. I’m really sorry.”

“The druids refused to protect the village, and they ordered all the warriors to guard the enclave, so I left and dealt with the bandits myself. After that, I went from place to place and protected other villages from bandits. Eventually, I became something of a mercenary. People started paying me to deal with bandits.”

“And that’s why you answered Jamandi’s call.” The Robin was frantically taking notes.

“Exactly,” said the Hound. “When I heard about the Stag Lord terrorizing the people to the south, I knew I couldn’t sit this one out.”

Something about her story struck a nerve with Nyrissa. It sounded so poignant, so familiar. Here she was, this woman who wanted to challenge a power greater than herself, because the rules were unfair…

“And what about afterwards?” asked the Robin. “Let’s say we manage to defeat the Stag Lord, bring his helmet back to Jamandi, and we all celebrate until dawn. What will happen next? Will you accept the title and become baroness?”

“Hell yes!” said the Hound. “I’m not an idiot. I know that if I just fuck off after killing the bandit chief, there will be an even worse mess for the people of the Stolen Lands. Maybe someone worse will take over. Once I become baroness, I’ll make it so that the common folk don’t have to be afraid of bandits or nobles. I’ll make sure that my people are protected and free. No more will people have to suffer under rules they cannot change.”

“Wow, you’ve really given this a lot of thought.”

The leader smiled. “If not me, then who?”

Nyrissa hissed in anger as she cut off her magical scrying. How dare she?! How dare this creature presume she could do what Nyrissa herself could not? That woman was a fool. She will fall like all the others. Nyrissa will forget all about her before the season turns, she was sure of it.

 

It took a whole day for Nyrissa to calm down from her fuming. By that point, her new pet had reached the trading post. Nyrissa got to see first-hand the rage in her Hound’s light brown eyes as she confronted the bandits who were threatening the owner. The barbarian showed no mercy as she cut them down. Nyrissa smiled wickedly at the thought of this creature single-mindedly hunting down all the other creatures she had snared in her tangled web. A pity she had showed herself to be a complete fool, only barely strong enough to challenge her Stag. Her Peacock and the Wolf Cub would tear this idealistic fool to shreds. Better to just dispose of her once her purpose was complete.

The Hound’s rage was hardly abated after they had taken care of the rest of the bandits. She had declared to the owner of the trading post that she would end the Stag Lord’s reign of terror once and for all. Nyrissa knew just what to do to trap this one.

Nyrissa projected an image of herself to her new pet while everyone slept at the trading post. The night was dark and Nyrissa had thickened the fog outside.

The barbarian woman snored softly as she slept. The dog curled up at the foot of her bed. Standing over her, Nyrissa felt as if she could easily reach down and cut her throat. The nymph surprised herself she found that she had started to reach down and touch the other woman’s face. The human was not what most people would find attractive. She wasn’t ugly, but she wasn’t beautiful, either. Neither was she plain, strangely enough. Her scars, muscles, and unkempt braided hair gave her a distinct look. Looking closely, Nyrissa could also see a bunch of freckles on her face, almost too faint to be seen against her brownish, tanned skin.

“Hear me,” said Nyrissa. “Hear me, please.”

The other woman opened her eyes and quickly sat up. For some reason, Nyrissa had thought that she might be slower to rouse. Perhaps this woman had learned to react quickly from sleeping outdoors.

“Who are you?” she asked.

It was so easy for Nyrissa to fall into character, to pretend to be the guardian of that was natural and precious in this land. All she had to do was act like the old her, who she was before the curse had taken hold of her. Just as Nyrissa had predicted, her pet’s eyes widened with sympathy when she moaned about her precious flowers and trees being choked by this terrible fog.

“How can I help?” asked the Hound.

Oh, this was delicious. Nyrissa told her about an evil druid that conjured up this fog, how the Stag Lord keeps him protected. She tells her pet of an abandoned hut that may contain clues as to where the fog originated, but she couldn’t tell her where it was just yet. Instead, she tells her about a bandit camp in the Thorn Ford who may have information on how to get to the Stag Lord.

Her Hound took the bait. “I understand.”

Nyrissa smiled. This was the easiest thing she ever had to do.

 

Nyrissa’s Hound followed her lead. She took care of the bandits at the ford and found the clue that would lead her to the druid’s old hut. She had rescued two slaves from the Technic League along the way, but that was not important at the moment. When her party reached the abandoned hut, Nyrissa showed her visions of the old druid beating his son, who would become the Stag Lord, then having their positions reversed. The others in her party expressed worry, since Nyrissa made sure to only appear to their leader.

Her Hound had reacted with a predictable mixture of pity for the young boy and anger at what he had become. But there was something else in her expression. Did she perhaps see a bit of herself in her adversary? Both were estranged from their druid parents (albeit hers was to a much, _much_ lesser extent), and both chose paths involving banditry (him becoming one, and her hunting them down). It was a bit delightful that Nyrissa’s new pet happened to mirror her old one.

Her Hound was very curious, searching through every crate and under nearly every stone. When she showed Nyrissa the old druid’s notes, Nyrissa recalled an old game she used to play with her fellow nymphs involving placing an herb in a chest.

But then her hound wanted to know more about her. Very well. Nyrissa told her a fairy tale about a young nymph who lived in a beautiful forest. It was very easy to convey the easy splendor of her Thousandbreaths, even though she had to condense it to sound more mundane, focusing on the crystals made of dew drops, the song of a thousand birds reverberating through the trees, and laughing with her fellow nymphs. It was also easy to tell her of a poisonous beast that ravaged her old kingdom once the greater powers discovered her dreams and how she had to flee to the Stolen Lands to start her dream anew.

“So far, these are the fairy tale’s final words,” said Nyrissa, “but I hope that this is not the end just yet…”

“It won’t,” said the human. “I promise, we will lift this fog and deal with the Stag Lord once and for all. After that, I would love it if you stayed and fulfilled your dream here. I will make sure that all mortals and fey have a place here.” And she said it with such conviction and passion. She actually believed what she said.

Idiot. But she did speak true. One way or another, her actions will help Nyrissa with her new dream.

 

Her Hound headed next to the Temple of the Elk, where the sweet little Skylark would wait for her. And what a delicious little thing he was, always so sweet and virtuous even as he was made to obey Nyrissa’s every whim. She had endured his pleas to turn to the light, knowing that he couldn’t do anything else, not when she held his salvation in her hands. When he had stepped out through the portal, an idea had come to her. Her Hound seemed to be unable to resist innocents in danger. It was a last minute thing, not that she was particularly bothered that she couldn’t warn her Skylark what she was about to do. It’s not like he will actually die.


	2. Chapter 2

One moment, Tristian had stepped through the portal. The next, he found himself face-to-face with a monstrous beast. He barely had time to register what was going on before the bear-like treant lunged at him. Tristian tried to jump back through the portal, but it was gone, and the bear slashed at him with its giant claws. Tristian ducked behind a stone wall as the creature lunged at him again. If he wasn’t so preoccupied with staying alive, he would have cursed his miserable state. At his full power, he could have vanquished this beast with the wave of his hand. Now, in this weak, vulnerable body, armed with the clumsy bit of metal of a scimitar, he could only run.

He healed his wound with a minor healing spell, a small scrap of the power his Lady had bestowed upon him. The beast was on him again. Tristian tied to fend the monster off with his scimitar, but it deflected all his strikes with ease. Tristian’s puny weapon could not even penetrate its thick, wooden hide. He started to tire, far to early than he would have liked. Even his spells were of little use. The little magic he could muster kept him alive for some time, but not much. He was quickly running out of spells.

The bear cornered him. It slashed at him once more. This time, the creature managed to strike him down. Tristian was bleeding badly, and his shoulder and collarbone were broken. Pain wracked his body. He could only cover himself with his hands as the beast came down on him again. Tristian froze in panic, pleading desperately for Sarenrae to save him, know that if he died here, there would be no hope of returning to his goddess.

Tristian heard a battle cry coming from nearby. The bear immediately turned away from him as the head of an axe was suddenly lodged into its flank. Tristian saw a barbarian woman (two of them in fact), along with a half-orc man wielding magic, a heavily armed dwarf with a mace, and a dog engage the beast and doing a much better job of damaging it than he had. He also saw the beast getting hit with magic and arrows. There were more people here.

Eventually, the beast was no more. Tristian let out a sigh of relief. One of the barbarian women, the one with an obvious scar on her right cheek, turned to him. Tristian saw the rage leave her light brown eyes as she looked him over. Perhaps he was dizzy from the blood loss. Perhaps after spending so much time away from divine grace, his mind started to look for anything that would remind him of home. But for one moment after looking up at his savior, Tristian felt that she reminded him of Sarenrae dealing the final blow against evil and delivering him from all torment.

Tristian quickly gathered enough of his wits to channel some radiant energy into himself and find something to say.

“I swear, never have I been so glad to meet a stranger,” he said as he tried to push himself up.

“Hey, take it easy.” She was immediately at his side on the ground. In those brown eyes, Tristian saw an emotion that he had not encountered since he fell into Nyrissa’s trap.

Concern. Having her worry about him like this was almost painful for Tristian to bear, since this was the woman that he would betray.

“You are wounded,” she said. “Do you need aid?”

“You are very kind,” he said almost dreamily. He quickly added, “Kindness to strangers is in rare supply these days. Worry not. Followers of Sarenrae are skilled in the healing arts. I can heal myself.”

When she told him about the nymph that led her here, his heart sank. He wanted so badly to tell this woman to give up on her venture, to scream at her to leave the Stolen Lands and never return. Instead, he did what Nyrissa had told him to do and confirmed that it was, indeed the strange animals that was holding this cursed fog in place. That much was true, only it was by Nyrissa’s design and not whatever it was Nyrissa had told her.

“We should stick together in such a dangerous place,” she said. “You could help me on my journey.”

Her request caught him by surprise. The thought of how easy this was made his stomach churn. This woman didn’t deserve what Nyrissa had planned. No one in the Stolen Lands did. He promised to think about it once all the beasts were defeated.

“Oh,” he called out as she started to lead her party away. “We haven’t introduced. My name is Tristian.”

“Katala,” she responded, though Tristian already knew her name.

As Katala and her party continued fighting the beasts, Tristian attended to his wounds. They were bad, but not severe enough that he couldn’t patch himself together with a few bursts of divine energy. Once that was taken care of, he would be in good shape to travel, and after a bit of rest, he would be able to fight if need be.

At last, they struck the final blow on a particularly troublesome boar. As the animal died, the enchantment Nyrissa had placed on the land started to dissipate, and the temple quickly filled with sunlight.

When Tristian had stayed with Nyrissa, he had spent all his time trapped in those ruins, away from his precious sun. Now after so long in the darkness, Tristian nearly wept with joy as the light and warmth soaked into him.

He almost didn’t notice when Katala returned, worn, tired, and bloodied, but with a satisfied, and self-assured smile on her face as she balanced her axe on her shoulder.

“The beasts are gone. Ready to join me now?”

 

The group went back to the trading post. For the most part, the people around him were very kind. Regongar mistook Tristian’s mercy for weakness and mocked him for it, Harrim kept to himself and his thoughts of destruction, and Amiri only thought of the next fight, but everyone else was always eager to help him and answer his questions. The owners of the trading post were a very lovely couple. Svetlanna always had fresh bread ready, and Oleg made sure that everyone had a bed to come back to.

It felt very strange. As a deva, Tristian knew that he should be the one helping and protecting them, not the other way around, especially not when he didn’t deserve their kindness. He tried finding ways to help them, but even compared to the other mortals, his body was weak, and more often than not, he would be told to sit down and let others handle the work.

One of the worst things he ever had to do was face Jhod, the priest of Erastil who Nyrissa had tricked with a vision of the temple. The older priest was especially kind to him, and seeing the hope in that man’s face broke Tristian’s heart. He wished that he could tell Jhod the truth, that it was Nyrissa who had sent him that vision and not a sign of forgiveness from his god.

On the other hand, Tristian was also happy that the people could still find room in their hearts to be kind to others even in these unforgiving lands.

There was also Katala herself. Ever since Tristian had joined them, the two of them have not kept far from one another. He didn’t know what it was, but she commanded attention wherever she went. It wasn’t just her tall stature or her strong frame or her loud, boisterous voice. Katala also carried herself with great confidence, like she was supposed to be where she was and no one could argue with her, and Tristian had difficulty keeping his eyes off her.

When she asked him to tell her about himself, it was easy to feed her the lines Nyrissa had given him. He told her a story of a young acolyte coming straight out of Kelesh to see the world. He spun in a few truths about himself here and there: his love of travel, his devotion to the great Sarenrae, and his desire to do good for the people around him. He surprised himself with how easy it was to give his story life when he entwined these little pieces of himself into it.

“Um, not to be blunt, but you don’t look or act like someone from Kelesh,” she said.

Tristian was prepared for that. He told her about how his parents had come to Kelesh from a distant land and left him in the care of the followers of Sarenrae.

“You must have seen a lot,” she said. “What’s the most interesting place you’ve seen?”

“Well,” said Tristian, “there’s actually not much to tell. I’m afraid I’ve not done anything interesting.”

“But how can that be?” she asked. “You said so yourself, each realm affects it’s people differently, and only by breathing its air and walking its soil can you get a feel for what the people are like. How can that not affect you?”

“I didn’t say I wasn’t affected,” said Tristian, “I merely said that I might not have anything interesting to tell.”

“Come on,” Katala said brightly. “This is actually my first time out of Brevoy, so anything will be interesting to me. Don’t you have a favorite food or dance or place?”

“I…will have to think about that one,” he said. “Let me get back to you when I think of something.”

“All right, all right,” said Katala, though Tristian had a feeling that she _chose_ to drop it. He could not begrudge her her questions. Some part of him wanted her to find the one thread that unraveled all his lies and realize the danger she was in. Another part dreaded it with all his soul.

“Have you thought about where you’re going next?” she asked.

“No, my thoughts were far from it,” he said. “Why, do you wish me to leave your lands?” He actually panicked at the thought. Did he do something wrong? If he had failed to gain her trust, would Nyrissa get angry with him?

“No, of course not!” she said quickly. “Just the opposite actually.” Her voice dropped for some reason and she fidgeted with one of the braids in her hair. “I actually wouldn’t like the thought of you leaving. I hope you will stay with me for as long as you can.”

“I too would not welcome the thought of leaving you. I…” Tristian didn’t know why he said that. It was all he could do to mumble an excuse. Even then, it all came out wrong.

When they started talking about Sarenrae, Katala got excited when Tristian told her of the great battles the Dawnflower took part of. Tristian didn’t mind. As a deva, he was compelled to answer all questions about his goddess, even those asked in jest.

“Okay I have to ask,” said Katala. “Do priests of Sarenrae have to be celibate?”

Tristian frowned. What a strange and juvenile question. Why would she ask that all of a sudden? “No, my goddess does not require that of her priests, but some orders do practice it.”

“Okay, good to know.” She smiled brightly, and it was so absurd that Tristian let out a chuckle. It was then that he realized that this was the first time he had laughed since he came to Golarion.

 

The fog would take some time to clear, so Katala had decided to check on her rival from Brevoy. On the way there, they encountered a group of bandits holding up two travelers. The bandits were young, but well-armed and were pointing their weapons at the frightened innocents. They showed no grief over what they were doing. In fact, they seemed to be laughing at one another over the prospect of terrifying these people. It was only when they saw Katala’s group that their amused expressions turned to those of fear and anger.

Katala did not hesitate as she jumped into battle. Never had Tristian seen such pure unbridled _fury_. The bandits were inexperienced and stood little chance, and they fell to spell and sword, Katala in particular doing the most damage. It was over before they knew it.

There was one bowman left. Upon seeing his fellows dead, the young man tried to run away, but Katala’s dog was immediately on him and pinned him to the ground. Saliva fell from the animal’s teeth as he snarled at his prey.

“Please,” said the bandit. “I surrender.”

Katala’s rage had not dissipated. Before she could advance on him, Tristian stood in her path.

“Katala, wait,” he said.

“Get out of my way, Tristian.” Her voice was steady in a cold way.

“Please,” said Tristian, “put aside your anger and think this through. There are other options besides killing.”

“Like what?” asked Katala. “If I let him go, he’s just going to keep hurting other people.”

“Please,” said the bandit. “My friends and I…we didn’t know what we were doing. Lot’s of people are desperate. The Stag Lord was the only way…” He actually started crying. “Please, I just want to go home,” the bandit sobbed.

“Oh, now you say that!” Katala snapped at him. “I saw how your friends handled these travelers. This wasn’t your first shakeup. Desperation can only excuse so much.”

“You’re right, Katala,” said Tristian. “These people were far from innocent, but this man is young. He can change. He’s been scared enough not to do it again.”

The young man whimpered.

“Bullshit,” said Regongar. “Anyone stupid enough to throw in with the Stag Lord will get what’s coming.”

“Oh, I don’t know about this,” said Linzi. “On one hand, what he and his friends did was horrible. On the other hand, they were just a bunch of stupid kids.”

“Please,” said Tristian. “Think about his parents. He might have a family who’s worried about him.”

For a moment, Katala’s expression seemed to soften a little bit. She now seemed more conflicted.

The youth escaped from underneath the dog and started to run away. Katala’s rage immediately kicked in again, and, before Tristian could stop her, she caught up to the young man and pinned him down. She raised her axe above her head and brought it down on the ground next to the bandit. The young man looked at the weapon next to his head with wide eyes.

“Go to you parents,” said Katala. “If I ever catch you doing this shit again, I will kill you.”

She let him go. He immediately ran off.

The travelers gratefully accepted Katala’s offer to escort them back to the trading post. Tristian approached her when they stopped for camp. The barbarian looked tired. She was slumped over, sitting on a log, as if she hadn’t recovered from her post-rage fatigue.

“I suppose you want to talk about what happened today,” she said.

“I was worried about you,” said Tristian. “For a moment, I thought you were about to kill him.”

“I was,” said Katala. “I guess I just changed my mind at the last minute.” She looked at him. “You sure I did the right thing?”

“Yes,” said Tristian. “I strongly believe that he won’t be a threat anymore.”

“You ‘believe’,” she said. “I’m not knocking off your teachings of mercy. If it was just me that would get affected by evil people I let go, I would show mercy to everyone I meet, but I don’t know if they’re really sorry. How do I know if they’re not going to go hurt someone else?”

She had a point. Though Tristian knew with all his heart that everyone who is truly repentant deserves a chance at mercy, no matter what they had done, it was difficult to know who was sincere or not.

“I concede your point,” said Tristian. “Truth be told, I don’t think I would have blamed too much you if you had killed that man if you thought that he would go on to hurt others, though I am glad you showed restraint. Whatever justice could have been gained was not worth killing a teenager.

“But that’s not what I wanted to talk about,” he said. “Back there, you seemed so angry. I know that’s normal for the way you and Amiri fight, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so affected. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Katala sighed. “I just really hate bandits,” she said. She told him about the village near the druid enclave where she had grown up. Tristian listened intently as she recounted how the village got attacked by bandits.

“When the bandits attacked, the druids did nothing.” Katala paused. “ _I_ did nothing.” Her hands clenched as she started to get worked up again. “So now you understand that when I see something bad happening, I _have_ to act. No matter what. Because if I do nothing I _know_ something bad will happen.”

“I am very sorry for your loss,” said Tristian. “You are right. If there is evil going on, you must act, but you must also understand that compassion doesn’t mean inaction. There are other courses of action other than attacking someone. There are a surprising number of conflicts that can be stopped using words instead of swords.”

“I’m not good at words,” said Katala. “I only know how to find the one responsible and kill the shit out of him.”

“I can help you with that if you want,” said Tristian. “You don’t have to face your problems alone. You have others around you who might be better at convincing people to turn to the light. Besides, I believe that you are capable of more than you think. When you speak, people listen. I know you could find another way if you tried.”

“You really think so,” said Katala.

“Yes,” said Tristian. “Passion is your greatest strength and I love how you don’t hesitate…” Oh. He had misspoken again. “Um…what I mean to say is that, it’s good that you want to do the right thing. I too will not stand by while evil is happening…” He abruptly stopped himself once he realized that it was a lie. What Nyrissa had planned…What he was helping her with…

Katala’s eyes lit up. “Really? That’s not the response I usually get. Normally people tell me to calm down or that I need to control myself. My fathers used to tell me that I had a temperament.”

“As long as you do the right thing and show compassion, I do not see any problem with it,” said Tristian.

Katala smiled. Tristian couldn’t help but feel that she looked brilliant in the moonlight. “Thanks, Tristian. I was truly blessed when I met you.”

Suddenly, Tristian felt very warm. “I…Thank you, Katala. It fills my heart with joy to hear you say that. I…” He shook his head. “If you need any help or advice, you can always ask me. Whatever you face, I will be there.”

Even though he knew that everything would fall apart in the end, Tristian was glad that he could bring that little bit of peace to her.

 

Another night, when they made camp at the Old Sycamore, Tristian was able to get Katala alone again. He offered her a few potions he had managed to bring from Nyrissa’s ruins. It was a pitiful compensation, and he knew it would not nearly make up for what he would have to do, but he wanted to do all he could, even with his limited abilities…his limited body.

“You know,” said Katala. “I wouldn’t mind if we were closer.”

Tristian blinked. “Of course, I am happy to call you my friend!” And he was sincere about that, even if it didn’t change what he would have to do. If she wanted, if she needed him as a companion, then he would fill that role to the best of his abilities.

Katala laughed. “I meant in the romantic kind of way.”

“Oh,” said Tristian, suddenly flustered for some reason. “I see.” He didn’t know what to do. It was strange and exciting, but it was also really, really bad. Now he knew that he would inevitably hurt her far more that anyone ever could. If Nyrissa found out…Tristian would make sure it didn’t happen. He could do that much for Katala at least. He muttered an excuse and walked away.


	3. Chapter 3

Nyrissa’s Hound was almost ready. Soon the fog would fade away, and Nyrissa would come visit her pet once again.

The Skylark was performing very admirably. He had squeezed right into their little group seamlessly. He was already proving himself useful. Right now, the little group was traveling the Old Sycamore, a place surrounded by a strange magic that prevented Nyrissa from magically spying on them.

“How are things progressing?” Nyrissa asked him while visiting his dreams.

“Things are going...well, my lady,” her golden Skylark responded. “I think she trusts me like her other companions.”

“Wonderful,” said Nyrissa. “But you still seem so sad. What’s wrong?”

“I…is there no other way?” he pleaded. “Whatever you think, you can still abandon your plan. You don’t have to do this.”

She tsked at him. Her silver-tongued Skylark was lovely and precious. A shame that his constant pleas for mercy had quickly grown tiresome. Still, she needed him, so she tolerated his simpering for now.

What she didn’t want to admit to him or to anyone else was that the curse that removed the Briar from her heart did not completely erase the guilt or horror of what she had to do. It screamed at her from the empty hole that was left inside her. All the shame and torment, but without the capacity to care for their miserable lives.

But she had to move forward. She had no choice…

“When will she come back to the trading post?” Nyrissa asked. “I’m impatient to get to the next part of my plan.”

“Not long,” said the Skylark. “Katala just has some business with a rival from Brevoy. I think she’ll come back as soon as that is taken care of.

“So, it’s ‘Katala’ now is it?”

His golden eyes widened with alarm. “Forgive me, it is common for others to refer to her by name.”

Nyrissa laughed. “Oh, no. I’m glad for your progress.” Then in a much sharper tone she said, “Bring her back alive or I’ll burn your wings to dust.”

She dismissed him with a flick of her wrist.

 

Nyrissa sent another apparition to her Hound at the trading post. “Greetings,” she said.

“Hi!” said Nyrissa’s faithful Hound. “I hope you’re feeling better now that the fog is gone.”

“I’ll feel even better once my tormentor is no more. Even now, his men trample the meadows and slaughter my people. But it brings hope to my heart that there is one who can stand against him.”

“He will fall,” said the other woman. “I promise no one will ever hurt you again.”

Nyrissa nearly flinched at the other woman’s confidence. Things were going even better than she thought. This one was so _eager_. Yet, somehow her words and her conviction resonated with Nyrissa, something deep inside, something painful.

“Once this is over,” said the Hound. “Will I see you again?”

“You…wish to see me?” asked Nyrissa. “Yes, of course.” The old Nyrissa would have loved to call the other one a friend. Perhaps, once upon a time, Nyrissa would have shown her the wonders of her Thousandbreaths, introduce her to her sisters. They would have gone on many adventures together.

It would have been…wonderful.

Nyrissa gave her Hound an amulet made from her own hair. The other woman’s hands were large and rough, but warm when Nyrissa touched them, and very strong. Nyrissa had little doubt that this woman was strong enough to challenge the Stag Lord. Perhaps she was strong enough to…

Nyrissa squashed that thought down. Of course, she wasn’t. She will be dead before the year is out.

 

This was wrong, this was completely wrong. While everyone was celebrating the Stag Lord’s defeat, Tristian stayed at the banquet table with his hood down. The people around him were in terrible danger.

Tristian observed the people in attendance. A whole host of emotions played out in the celebrations: the tensions between Aldori and Surtova, rivalry between the three new barons, triumph over the Stag Lord’s defeat, uncertainty and hope for the future. He heard people excitedly speak of the new settlers that would migrate south, future plans, and speculations over the new rulers. In any other circumstance, Tristian would have loved to keep observing or even celebrate alongside the mortals here. There was much to rejoice: a great evil had been vanquished, and now people no longer had to live in fear of the bandits. This was a new beginning, an exciting time for many as they made plans to start their new lives.

But Tristian knew that something far, far darker than bandits and more powerful than anything he had ever encountered in his long life hovered over the Stolen Lands, and he wanted so desperately to scream at everyone to stay away from that cursed place, but something was keeping him silent. His desperate and deep-seated fear of never feeling Sarenrae’s light again choked his words before they could leave his throat, and Nyrissa had used that fear to break him to her will. He knew he could break the hold she had over him if he wanted to, but he was helpless and broken and wretched. He had to…

“Hey!” Katala placed two goblets in front of them as she sat down next to him. Seeing Nyrissa’s necklace on her throat filled Tristian with dread, a reminder that Katala had already fallen under the nymph’s power; she just didn’t know it. “You look so quiet.”

Tristian smiled. “Forgive me. I am simply not used to these kinds of functions.”

“It’s all right,” she said. “I just wanted to see if you were doing well.”

“I’m well, thank you,” he lied. Tristian looked out at the people. “You’ve brought hope to these people. You must feel very proud.”

She smiled broadly, crossing her arms behind her head. “Yeah, I’m pretty awesome, aren’t I?”

Tristian laughed. “You are…rather exceptional, my lady.”

Her smile faded slightly as she spoke with a more serious tone. “I also wanted to talk to you about your mission here.”

“My mission?”

“You know, the reason why curses seem to be stronger here?”

Oh, yes, Tristian’s “mission”. He had told her the truth when he had said that the Stolen Lands had an affinity for curses, and he knew that it was tied to Nyrissa somehow. He just didn’t know why.

“I was thinking,” she said. “Curses are kind of bad for my people, so it really would be in my best interests to help you find out what’s going on, especially since you helped me kill the Stag Lord.”

“Oh, you don’t owe me anything,” said Tristian. “It was somewhat connected to what I was doing, and you saved my life. I was happy to help you.”

“Eh, I’ll help you anyway,” said Katala. “Like I said, it might be dangerous to keep that hanging around. Besides, I was…hoping that we could continue to spend time together…” Her voice trailed off, and Tristian could almost swear that he saw her blushing.

“Of course!” said Tristian. “I promise I’ll help you with anything you need, curse or no curse.”

She squeezed his shoulder before taking her drink and walking away. Tristian’s eyes were on her as she laughed and mingled with the other guests. It was obvious from the start that manners weren’t her strong suit. She was too blunt, too loud, and among the nobles, she stood out like a sore thumb. But she still garnered a lot of awe. Some, like Maegar Varn and a few others were drawn to the way she laughed and the way she drank. Most were impressed that this was the woman who killed the Stag Lord, and she certainly looked the strong and stalwart hero who could come tame the Stolen Lands.

Tristian tensed up when Jamandi called everyone to crown the new barons. His work was only beginning.

 

Tristian stayed with Katala and helped her start her barony and protect her on her adventures. It was good working with Katala. She cared for her people and had a near-unquenchable thirst for adventure that had the whole group exploring as much of her new land as their duties would allow…and maybe a little beyond that.

True to her word, as soon as she got settled in, she started researching curses right away. Though Harrim led the bulk of the research, Tristian was also heavily involved. It wasn’t truly why he was here, Katala was right: they couldn’t ignore something like that. It also gave him an excuse to warn Katala about the “curse” of the Bald Hilltop. In actuality, it was a portal that he had helped Nyrissa build so that she could eventually bring down her armies on Katala’s lands.

Giving Katala even that bit of information was a grueling decision. Tristian had agonized over it for days until he had finally found the courage to disobey Nyrissa and “advise” Jhod to come investigate with him. Hopefully Nyrissa wouldn’t find out.

Tristian poured himself into his work as he new Councilor, at first thinking that it could somehow make up for his betrayal. He learned very quickly what a hollow gesture it was. He always knew that, if he had truly cared for the people, he would go right up to Katala and tell her everything he knew and…

And what? If Tristian could not stand up to Nyrissa when he was at his full power, then what hope did this baroness and her tiny barony have? These people had no chance…no chance at all.

It also did not help that all the work he did would ultimately serve Nyrissa. Every person he helped, every fear and petition and issue he addressed, and every wound he healed was designed to build the barony and bring it down. It was a cruel torment, to have all his instincts to help turned into weapons against the innocent, to look into the faces of all the people around him, to get to know these mortals, their fears and their dreams, knowing that he will only destroy their lives in the end, like a banquet where all the food turned to ash in his mouth. Everything he did was tainted by his betrayal, by Nyrissa.

The only thing worse than that was being cut off from his great Sarenrae. Without the light of his goddess, everything was hollow and cold and lonely. He was caged, weak, powerless, and doomed, and he would do anything to crawl back to Her side, even though he knew that not even She would forgive him for what he had to do. But he would much rather have Her wrath than this maddening silence, so he fulfilled his new role, doing good for its own sake while he waited for this nightmare to be over.

He never forgot what Katala had told him the night at Old Sycamore. He heard her words in his head again and again. There was no denying that he cared for her. He just…couldn’t be what she needed. He knew so little about the affairs of mortals that, even if the circumstances had allowed it, he wasn’t sure if he would be able to make her happy.

The only example he was intimately familiar with was Octavia and Regongar. At times, their love could seem inspiring. To have stayed together through such hardship and come all the way to freedom together, Tristian could only imagine such a bond. But at other times, it seemed that they could not go a day without hurting one another. He wasn’t sure what to make of it.

If only he knew what Katala wanted. It drove him crazy every time they had a meeting together or talked by the campfire. Every time they separated, she would always have that look on her face, as if she expected something else from him, but Tristian could not for the life of him figure out what it was.

 

Most worshipers of Sarenrae have trained with the scimitar since childhood. Her angels already had it mastered on creation. Tristian learned very quickly that this new body needed constant practice to stay sharp; he had been horrified when he had picked it up again, only to see that his technique had been off.

This body was also weak and tired easily. He just never seemed to have enough time or energy to get his skills to where they should be. Compared to where he was, he seemed like a child playing with wooden swords, and he felt completely frustrated that he could no longer please Sarenrae in that capacity.

Still, in spite of his difficulties, he still managed to find a certain comfort in practicing his techniques. Combat was not the only point of practice. There were many martial arts practiced by the faithful that promoted meditation and focus.

When he practiced, he would often get visitors, mostly from women. Most often, a group of young women would lean on a nearby fence and watch him.

Come to think of it, most of those girls were also in the congregation he led. And often visited him and Jhod in their little makeshift clinic. A lot.

One day, a girl approached him. She had tawny skin, and her long hair came down her side in a braid. She stood with her hands clasped behind her back as she faced him.

“You’re very good,” she said. “My name is Shanen.” From a ways away, her friends started giggling. They must have been shy.

“Thank you,” said Tristian. “My name is Tristian.”

Shanen smiled. A redness colored her cheeks. “I’ve been to your sermons. They’re very moving. I think it’s wonderful that such a kind goddess could exist in this place.”

“Thank you, Shanen,” said Tristian. He thought it was wonderful that the people here were finally warming up to his goddess. “Sarenrae exists wherever there is light and faith. It is my hope that more people flock here to do good in Her name.”

“Oh,” said Shanen, her smile fading a bit.

There was a long pause.

“You have very lovely eyes,” Shanen said shyly. “They light up my world.”

Tristian tilted his head, confused. “Sarenrae is the light of all realms. Her blessing will light up your soul.”

“Oh,” Shanen’s smile dissolved into a sort of pout.

“Hey Tristian!” Katala yelled. Tristian smiled and waved as Katala approached him.

“Hi, Katala!” said Tristian. Shanen looked Katala up and down, as if assessing her. Tristian continued, “this is--”

“Hi!” said Katala. “I’m the baroness. How are you?”

“Oh, fine, Your Grace.” Shanen turned to Tristian. “Goodbye!” She and her friends scurried off.

“So,” said Katala. “Do you want to spar?”

Tristian smiled. Amiri had once gave him a similar offer. “Thanks, but I’m a healer, not a warrior. I don’t like to hurt others.”

Katala’s smile did not waver. “Sparring isn’t just about getting better at killing. It’s something fun you do with friends. Plus, it’s good exercise.”

Tristian sighed. “All right, you’ve convinced me. When do we start?”

Katala’s smile widened, and it was then that Tristian realized that she was carrying two wooden scimitars. Tristian put his weapon aside and grabbed the practice weapon.

“Um, do you want to borrow a belt of strength?” Katala asked. “I don’t want to start pummeling you.”

“No thank you,” said Tristian. “It will be incumbent on you not to hurt me.”

“All right,” said Katala.

Then she lunged at him. Almost as if his arm moved on its own, Tristian raised his weapon to block her. The two weapons met with a loud crack, and Tristian stumbled backwards. Katala let him gather his bearings.

“Don’t stop your attack.” Katala seemed surprised at Tristian’s sudden command. “You don’t want to prolong your enemy’s suffering.”

Katala shrugged. “All right.”

She was at him again. The disparity between the two was obvious. She beat him again and again, but only because she was a _lot_ stronger and faster than he was. But he had finer technique, and, since she was cut off from her rage and her pet, the match was closer than most people would think.

It wasn’t long when Tristian called for respite, short of breath and his skin glistening with sweat. He wasn’t wearing his priest robes, instead practicing in a plain tunic and trousers. Katala hardly looked out of breath at all, and _she_ was wearing what was essentially a very wide belt with wrapping around her chest.

Tristian never realized how much skin she was showing. She looked so strong and powerful without looking intimidating.

She was actually rather attractive.

“Hey, did you ever get a chance to think about…us?” asked Katala.

“I have,” said Tristian. “I actually can’t seem to get what you said out of my head, but I’m not sure I understand. I know so little about the feelings of mortals, I’m just afraid to make a mistake or push you away with my ignorance.”

“You’re so cute,” said Katala.

“I…what?” asked Tristian.

“I hate to break it to you, but your ‘ignorance’ is actually kind of a selling point,” said Katala.

Tristian’s brows furrowed. “That is so strange. I’m not used to being appreciated for my shortcomings. Are you sure?”

Katala leaned forward. “Trust me, I’m sure.”

When she tried to kiss him, Tristian backed away. “Please don’t do that again.”

She backed away, embarrassed. “I’m sorry.”

“No, I…” said Tristian. “I’m just afraid to disappoint you.” He blushed. “And I’m afraid I already have.”

“No, you didn’t,” said Katala. “You can always say no, no matter what the circumstance is. Besides…” She looked down at the ground. “You could never disappoint me.”

‘I will,’ Tristian thought. ‘In a way you can never imagine.’

Tristian smiled. “Thank you for the sparring session. We should do that again.”

Katala smiled broadly again. “Of course!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m hoping it’s not too much of a work for word transcription of the game. I tried to change around the context.
> 
> Also clueless Tristian is clueless.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually wrote this chapter at the same time as my last one. It just got really long, so I decided to split the two.

Nyrissa allowed her Hound some time to build up her new barony. Things would get more complicated from here on out. For one, Nyrissa would have to stop relying on magical scrying to spy on her pet. Even a minor noble like the baroness would be afforded some magical protection, and the protection would only get more powerful if the barony was allowed to grow. While Nyrissa could easily break through these pitiful defenses, it wasn’t worth the effort. Going forward, the baroness may spend many days, even weeks doing busywork, and Nyrissa simply didn’t have the time nor the inclination to sit in on every meeting. Far better to get reports from her Skylark, who has so smoothly integrated himself into her court.

Nyrissa sent an apparition to the capital. The baroness smiled when she saw Nyrissa.

“Hello, my savior,” said Nyrissa. “You asked if we’d meet again, and here I am…”

Her Hound shifted her weight and put her hands on her hips. “I killed the Stag Lord. Have things gotten better?”

Nyrissa laughed in a way she had not laughed in a long time, like the wind chiming through the canopy of a sun-lit forest, entwined with the singing birds and the rush of gentle streams. “Yes, you cannot imagine the joy I felt when that monster finally fell…or the relief that you walked out of there alive.”

She motioned to the houses and walls surrounding them. “Your fates have changed since we last met. You are the bold ruler, and I the heartbeat of the land. I can give you a taste of the power I have over the natural world, if you’d like.”

The baroness laughed. “I feel bad taking a reward for something I was going to do anyway. Besides, I couldn’t have defeated the Stag Lord without you.”

“Then accept what I have to offer as a gift from a friend. Come as a guest to my chambers. We can discuss the future of the Stolen Lands, create a country where mortals and fae can live in harmony.”

“Sounds wonderful,” said the baroness. “I’ll tell my friends to pack up and meet you there.”

“While I would like nothing better, the pathway to my domain will only open to the one I trust implicitly, and I have not had a chance to establish a bond with any other mortal. You must come alone.”

Her Hound’s smile faltered, and her eyes narrowed ever-so-slightly. Nyrissa didn’t skip a beat as she continued, “So long! I will await you there, as the ground waits for spring under heavy winter’s snow.”

“Wait!” the baroness called out, but Nyrissa had already faded away.

 

Her Hound kept her waiting for an inordinately long time. Truth be told, Nyrissa didn’t really expect her to come. Any creature with an ounce of sense would not willingly walk alone into such an obvious trap. Also, her Skylark had reported growing concerns of a troll invasion in the lands. That would certainly keep the baroness busy.

Nyrissa had almost completely forgotten about her last meeting with her pet when she sensed the baroness’s presence by the oak tree in the courtyard. With a snap of her fingers, three beasts were summoned into the courtyard. Her loyal fae minions manned the walls, and the traps she had prepared materialized on the walls and exits.

Nyrissa herself appeared on the wall. The baroness had her axe out, looking warily at the encroaching beasts, on the verge of a rage. Her dog growled as it prepared to defend its mistress. The baroness almost immediately turned to Nyrissa. Her expression was that of anger and hurt, but Nyrissa could see no trace of surprise. So, her Hound had suspected that there was a trap and came anyway.

“So, you did come,” said Nyrissa, “and alone, just as I asked.”

“Of course, I knew this was a trap,” said the baroness. “I just want to know, was there _any_ truth to what you’ve told me? Or did you lie to me this entire time? Was the friend I fought for and struggled to help merely a mask?”

“A mask? A lie? No, no…Like a snake wrapped in its own sloughed skin, I’ve shown you something that is long gone. But I remember! I remember who I was, who I wanted to become…” The emptiness in Nyrissa’s heart flared with a newfound hunger, an intense longing as memories of the past resurfaced. All the joy and hope and love that had been taken from her, leaving only pain and heartache and despair. The emptiness screamed at her like a thousand cries. Nyrissa was nearly overcome, but she quickly found a perverted strength in her anger, anger at the ones who had done this to her, anger at the presumptuous creature who dared call these memories forward. “Why am I telling you this? You are nothing. Just another step on the ladder I must climb. You will perish like so many before you, and I will have forgotten you by the next dawn!”

“If you’re going to betray me at least tell me why!” her Hound yelled.

“The Stolen Lands will remain no one’s!” Nyrissa snapped. “Die or run, there is nothing you can change!”

With that, Nyrissa left her Hound to her death.

 

It seemed that scarcely a moment went by where Tristian did not feel as tense as a bowstring since Katala had left. Katala had come in one day telling her companions that the mysterious Guardian of the Bloom had approached her again at the capital. Everyone knew right away that it was a trap. Valerie suggested that they send their soldiers to the Verdant Chambers and raise it to the ground; for once Regongar agreed with her.

‘It would do no good,’ Tristian thought. ‘Nyrissa would deal with them before anyone would even notice.’

“I’m going,” Katala finally announced.

“What?” asked Valerie.

“You heard me,” said Katala. “I’m not going to quake in my boots because of some nymph. If it a trap, I still want to know why.”

“I agree,” said Amiri. “Our chief will rip that nymph apart.”

Harrim stroked his beard. “To stare your own doom in the face and not turn away. You are wise to take this opportunity.”

“Oh, this is so exciting,” said Linzi. “Katala, you are a true hero, but please be careful.”

Katala laughed. “You guys make it sound like I won’t come back or something. I’ve faced things worse than this.”

‘No, you haven’t,’ thought Tristian. ‘You really, really haven’t.’

“So, it’s settled,” said Katala. “I ride off immediately.”

Valerie looked like she was about to say something, but instead she sighed and shook her head.

Tristian caught the baroness in the stables as she was about to head out. She preferred to saddle her horses herself. When it came to travel, Katala was very knowledgeable, but peculiar in how she wanted things to be done. She had a special saddle commissioned for her own horse; like her armor, it was made of hardened hides instead of a more polished leather, and, while it was a little bigger, Katala claimed that it fit the horse more comfortably and had a better weight economy for the saddlebags. Her dog paced around as he waited for his mistress to get ready.

“I don’t think you should go,” said Tristian.

Katala finished buckling her saddle and turned to him. “Why not?”

“It’s just that, well, you are very strong, but I feel very worried about you going anywhere alone. What if something happened to you, and I cannot heal you?”

“Tristian, you are very sweet, but my mind is made up. Besides, it’s also possible that absolutely nothing will happen. I mean, I went to Sorrowflow alone, and everything turned out fine.”

Tristian walked up to her and put his hand on her shoulder. “Katala, please, I…” He paused. “…the barony needs you.”

Katala smiled softly at him and put her own hand on his shoulder. “It will be fine.” She squeezed his shoulder before breaking away to mount her horse.

“Just you wait,” she called out. “Once I get home, I’ll tell you all about it over drinks!”

Tristian watched helplessly as Katala rode off. He had not thought that Nyrissa would spring her trap so soon. He thought that Nyrissa would give Katala more time before striking her down. He prayed to Sarenrae that she would return to him, though he didn’t have any hope that she would.

A cold comfort came to him. Perhaps if Nyrissa defeated Katala here, she would never know of his involvement in her downfall; she would never feel the pain of heartbreak as she fell. It would also be the cleanest way to topple a kingdom. Without their baroness, most of the people here would merely disperse, and new settlers would be more reluctant to move here. And, most importantly, Nyrissa would not have to unleash her terrible Bloom. No one would have to die, except…

It only took Tristian a moment to decide that this sacrifice was completely unacceptable. It was all he could do not to ride out and save her himself, even though his current body was far weaker than her. But every time he thought about disobeying Nyrissa, he would feel as if he were literally frozen with fear. The thought of forever being kept from Sarenrae’s grace and the panic that came with it would overtake him completely, freezing all speech, thought, and action. He didn’t know what else Nyrissa had done to him when she had made him mortal, but it was more than simple blackmail that bound him to her so completely, something like a spell or a geas. Whatever it was, it was incredibly subtle. His actions were still his own, and he found that he could get around some of Nyrissa’s orders, but when he tried to directly disobey Nyrissa, he would find that he…couldn’t.

The binding wasn’t complete. Tristian knew that he could break that hold if he could only break through that fear, he could act as he wanted. But in the face of that darkness, that coldness, he could never find the courage to disobey. So, he stayed in the capital and fretted.

A day passed. Katala’s other companions were worried, of course, but to them it was no more difficult than anything else they had to face so far, dangerous, but survivable. They had no idea what they were up against.

Another day passed, the amount of time it would take to get there and back. Normally, it wouldn’t be a worry if Katala hadn’t made it back by then. In fact, it was expected. Four days was the number where everyone was expected to panic.

Another day. If Katala had survived the encounter, she should have been back by now. Then again, if Katala were actually dead, surely Nyrissa would come to Tristian and tell him what to do next. But he heard nothing from either Katala nor Nyrissa. What was happening?

On the fourth day, even the other companions were concerned. The barony’s regent, Octavia even started organizing a search party. She and Tristian had only started to get that idea off the ground when they heard a commotion outside. The guards shouted at people to make way for the baroness. Tristian immediately rushed outside, his heart racing. He hadn’t lost her yet.

When Katala rode up to the castle, she was in terrible shape. When she got off the horse, she walked with a very bad limp, and her leg had a large and very bloody bandage wrapped around it. Both her and her dog were covered in slashes and claw marks, and the poor animal favored his left front leg when he walked. Katala had some medical capability, but only enough to patch herself up to keep from dying once the rage and adrenaline wore off. Practically no one trusted her to tend to them. Tristian had seen some of her scars and wondered if her “healing” wasn’t responsible for at least half of them.

Tristian managed to stay calm as he ran to her side. He ordered one of the guards to carry the dog and follow them to her chambers. The strong, beautiful, _infuriating_ baroness refused any help as she hobbled herself into her bedroom and set herself down on one of her chairs.

Tristian helped Katala out of her armor. He winced when he unraveled the bandage on her leg and saw the “stitching” she did on her wound.

“Fucking redcap,” Katala groused. “That bastard cut me down to the bone. At least I got to cut a bit more off of him.”

A servant brought up a bowl of clean water, a small knife, and some towels. Tristian got to work, cutting and undoing the stitches on her leg.

“Did you pack any healing potions?” Tristian asked.

“I did,” said Katala. “Hunter broke all his legs when we had to jump off that wall. I gave most of them to him so he could make the long walk back.”

Down on the carpet, the dog licked his wounds aggressively. He had the same jagged stitching on his body that Katala did.

As Tristian cut and pulled out the stitching, the wound opened up and started bleeding. Tristian cleaned off the wound with the water and towels. Some dirt and mud had gotten under some of her bandages. It frustrated Tristian to no end that Katala kept taking unnecessary risks with herself. His baroness was as strong and sturdy as an ox and just as stubborn. She also had more confidence than sense, always rushing off into battle, refusing help, and in general not taking good care of herself, depending on her strength and hardiness to carry her through everything.

And yet, there was a certain selflessness to how she carried herself. In the months that Tristian had known her, he had only ever seen her use her strength to help the people around her, whether it was taking up arms so that others would not have to, or drawing enemy fire for them, or carrying most of the burden the group had to carry. He had not seen her once try to bully or threaten someone (unless she was already attacking them). In fact, she wasn’t very good at it. She smiled too easily, and she only actually hurt anyone when it got to a point where she had to fight them.

Tristian just wished that she would realize that her strength would not be enough sometimes.

“I just needed to know why she did it,” said Katala. “I thought she was my friend. I mean I was at least hoping that she would tell me why she tried to kill me.”

Tristian stopped what he was doing and looked up at her face. His eyes trailed at her neck. Every time he saw Nyrissa’s necklace on her, he felt a jolt of worry and anxiety shoot through him, as if that thing were a venomous snake threatening to choke or bite her. “I’m sorry,” he said. “They fae are rarely cruel, but they can be unpredictable. But still, to just attack you like that…”

“Is it bad that I was also kind of hoping that she wouldn’t hurt me?” she asked. “I guess, I don’t know…if there were a chance that she was really my friend, it was worth whatever trap I would walk into. I guess I’m just an idiot after all.”

“No, not at all,” said Tristian. “I think it was very noble of you to try to find the light in her. It wasn’t your fault that she wasn’t worthy of your friendship.”

Katala eye’s widened. “That’s…some rather strong words coming from you. Normally, you see the good in everyone.”

“Ah, forgive my hasty words. You are right, of course. You’re just so kind, and I could not bear to have you hurt—” It was then that Tristian became very aware that his hands were still on her leg, and he swore that his heart skipped a beat.

He quickly cleaned out the wound and said the healing spell to close all the wounds on her body. As he got to work on the dog, a little seed of hope took root in his heart. Katala had somehow managed to beat Nyrissa, even if it was just this small battle. It was not nearly enough to convince him that Katala would ultimately beat her when the time came. But what if she could…?

 

It had been a mistake to use her old self to ensnare her new prey. The hole in Nyrissa’s heart wouldn’t stop aching, she couldn’t stop thinking about what she had lost. When Nyrissa took on the guise, she had to remember all that she had loved, all that she had dreamed and force herself to try to feel them again, only to be reminded that all had turned to dust. Now she found that even after she had dropped the guise, the pain and sorrow would not leave her alone.

Why did her Hound have to survive her trap? If only she would just die and be forgotten, then Nyrissa could move on to her next prey.

But no. The Hound had to live, and Nyrissa had to look at her and be reminded again and again.

 _Let your unrequited love guide you_.

She had one more tool, one more hope, the Everblooming Flower. The weapon that she had created long ago, now only recently planted, was almost ready. Short of unraveling the very thin barrier that separated the First World and the Stolen Lands, it was the most destructive thing that Nyrissa could ever unleash. Hundreds dying by the day. Monsters rampaging the barony. It was…bloody and cruel, but it had to be done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, there were moments here and there throughout the game that hinted that Tristian's will was not his own. It wasn't very well-explained, and I still wanted Tristian's betrayal to be his fault, I kind of interpreted as a very limited form of magical compulsion that he could break free of anytime he wanted and that was also tied to his fear.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of a warning. Some of this chapter contains graphic depictions of violence (I don't know if I should bump up the rating or not). I watched the trailer for Baldur's Gate III and got...inspired.

Somewhere in the Kamelands, a man lay on his sickbed. He hadn’t kept any food down in days, and now he was coughing up blood. The village had a priest, but nothing he did worked on this strange malady. He couldn’t do anything for this man, just like he couldn’t do anything for the others. A runner had been sent to the capital days ago, but no word had returned. The young’uns were scared, as now it seemed ma was coming down with nausea, and they hadn’t seen any of their friends since this all started.

The man’s stomach gurgled. Crying out in pain, he clutched his stomach. He could feel his insides churning and bubbling as he started to swell like a bullfrog. He didn’t notice his wife rush in. She fell to his side, clutching his hand and yelling things his pain-addled mind couldn’t register. His death was swift but brutal. A garish purple and green light resonated inside him, and the man burst into an explosion of blood, bones, and viscera. His innards splashed all over the walls. In his place stood a confused and angry manticore. The venomous beast attacked and devoured the man’s wife, right in sight of her two young boys, who had been watching at the door.

The screaming children grabbed each other by the hand and ran outside, where it seemed the Abyss itself had opened up into the village. Monsters attacked people in the street. Chaos erupted as the villagers ran for their lives. Screams were also heard from inside the houses, as could the crunching of bones and tearing of flesh as more and more people succumbed to the illness. More beasts tore out of the houses, breaking down walls, destroying everything in their paths.

The children didn’t make it; they were both devoured by a hydra. Almost everyone died. Ruthgert, the priest of Erastil could only watch as timed seemed to slow around him, and everything he had known and loved was brutally crushed. Why hadn’t his god given him the strength to help these people? And where was the baroness, who had once declared that she would protect the people no matter what? Had this village become too small for her attention? Would she sit at the capital, uncaring for what happened here? Had they become too insignificant for Erastil? Ruthgert knelt down in the mud, wallowing in despair and anger, waiting for the beasts to claim him.

A miracle happened. In a flash of green light, _she_ appeared in the village. A bright dome appeared over the surviving villagers, protecting them from the beasts. With a wave of her yellow hands, the monsters were felled one by one.

When it was all over, Ruthgert stared in awe at this woman as she stood over him, radiant, majestic, and powerful. Her expression was both comforting and terrifying as she explained to the villagers that the beasts were brought upon because the people had neglected the true power of this land. In the wake of such terror, the people clung to that explanation. When all was said and done, they all prostrated themselves to their new goddess, the former priest of Erastil leading them.

It had begun.

 

When Tristian had been a deva, he heard Sarenrae’s voice every day. For every moment of his existence, every particle of his being had been filled with Her grace. He had only needed to reach out, and She would have been there to give him guidance and a purpose. Now, to even get a glimpse at Her divine visage, Tristian had to pray like the mortal priests did. He observed all the trappings and rituals of the faith religiously. Even then, the only response from his goddess were the small number of spells a priest was granted each day, a few small rays of sunlight to shine through the holes in his cage.

What Tristian wanted more than anything was a sign, just one whisper from his divine creator. Every day since he came to Golarion, he had prayed for Sarenrae to tell him what he should do. Everything was just wrong here. He had fallen into an unfamiliar world, under the power of an evil being who had perverted him from his true purpose and he needed Her guidance more than ever.

Perhaps that was why he had taken to following Katala (and Nyrissa to some extent) so easily. Tristian was just not used to being so alone. Without any commands from Sarenrae, he felt lost, aimless, drifting. So, when Katala gave him an assignment, or when they were adventuring together, Tristian did what she commanded dutifully, grateful for that little bit of direction that he craved.

Unlike Nyrissa, Katala was a good woman. Ever since they had that talk after she had let that young bandit go, she seemed to be more relaxed and more open to showing mercy to her enemies. It had gotten to a point where she had managed to surpass even him and not only let Tartuk live, but allow him and his kobolds to stay in the barony, to everyone’s annoyance.

However, when they had gotten back to the capital. Katala had surprised Tristian again. Valerie had heard what had happened and wanted to know what Katala was thinking.

“If I turn him loose, then he will just be someone else’s problem,” Katala had explained. “If I’m to let him live, then he’s my responsibility."

What was also amazing was that Katala always replied when Tristian reached out to her. When he needed guidance on his duties, she provided it. When he got attacked, she protected him. When he was confused, she provided answers. Whenever he needed her, she was just _there_. Always.

Katala hadn’t tried to kiss him again since their first sparring match. Before, Tristian only knew the infinite, unbound, and eternal love of his goddess. Here in Golarion, though…Tristian had seen Jhod officiate a few weddings. Very rarely had Tristian seen such joy as the couples and their loved ones had shown on those occasions, and in his time as Katala’s Councilor, he had seen many couples in their elder years, still has happy as the day they had gotten married. But he had also seen couples get separated, either death or a willing separation, and the heartbreaks that came with them. Even the most peaceful of departures always had a somberness hanging over them. Tristian wondered if this would be his fate if he pursued Katala the way she wanted him to. The thought of being with her only to lose her felt unbearable, especially since he _knew_ that it would end in the most painful way possible.

Nyrissa would have been ecstatic if she found out about this development. She would have used this to hurt Katala even more. Tristian could not allow Katala’s feelings to be used that way. Whatever it was the baroness felt towards him, it was pure and sincere, so when Nyrissa came to Tristian’s dreams to get his report, he would hide this new and strange connection he had with the baroness. It turned out that the same techniques Tristian used to deceive Katala and his new friends worked just as well on Nyrissa.

The group had set up camp. Right now, Ekun was getting a fire started while Linzi played the lute. Tristian found some time to get away from the group to conduct his prayers to Sarenrae. After he finished, he didn’t stand right up. He directed another prayer to his goddess.

_Dawnflower, I know I’ve bothered you enough, and I don’t deserve your grace, but I need to know. What is this love that mortals feel? How do I…they know if they’re in love? I can’t stop thinking about her, even though I know I can’t be with her the way she wants me to be. I feel happy when she’s near, but I don’t understand what is happening._

_Please, hear me._

But there was only silence.

He heard Katala’s footsteps approach him. It was never hard to notice her. Her strides were always strong and confident.

“Everything all right?” she asked. She held a few folded traps to her hip, and had a bow and quiver strapped to her back and a handaxe to her belt.

He smiled at her and stood up, brushing the dirt off his robes. “Yes, I’m fine…I think.”

She looked at him with mild concern on her face. She opened her mouth as if to say something, but then she seemed to change her mind and closed it again.

“Do you want to go hunting with me?” she asked.

“Sure,” he said. Maybe it would clear his mind.

It was the very beginning of spring. Though it was still chilly, the days were still longer than the nights, and the plants have long since peeked out into the Pharast sun. Katala and her dog led the way while Tristian followed, carrying some of the snares and a crossbow. Tristian had some knowledge of nature; for instance, he knew which herbs were edible or medicinal and which ones were poisonous, and he knew how to find roots in the wild and could make his way back, provided he did not wander very far. Katala could navigate any wilderness in these lands with ease. Of the group, only Ekun had her beat when it came to surviving outdoors. She never missed a step as she led them through the woods.

She stopped at a section of the forest where the trees were more spread apart. She showed Tristian how to unfold, bait, set, and camouflage the traps, and he helped her place them.

“It’s a good time to catch hares,” she explained.

“Really?” asked Tristian. “Why is that?”

Perhaps he was imagining things, but it seemed her smile took on a devious quality. “Because it’s mating season!” She paused, almost as if she were trying to compose herself. “A lot of these buggers will be running around, and most of them won’t be thinking straight. I actually feel kind of bad for them. I mean, they just come up here, trying to have a good time, and here we are, trying to catch and eat them.”

Tristian nodded. “It is sad that these innocent creatures must die for our sustenance. All we can do is make sure that they do not suffer any more than they have to and…what’s so funny?”

Katala was trying, and failing, very hard to stifle her giggles. “Nothing, I just think you’re really cute!”

“Oh,” said Tristian, confused.

Once the traps had been set, Katala led them many paces away so they could wait.

“Tristian,” said Katala. “I can tell something’s bothering you. Do you want to talk about it?”

“I…” said Tristian. “Forgive me. I just can’t stop thinking about how kind you’ve been to me and how strong you are to take on the burdens of an entire barony. You show a lot of bravery when you make decisions. I like yo…your courage very much.”

She giggled again and smiled brightly. “Thanks! I like you too!”

“All my life, the only love I’ve known is that of Sarenrae. I do not choose to love Her; love for Her is in my nature. Without Sarenrae, I…” Tristian shook his head. “But here among mortals, I keep hearing of a different kind of love, one that can be given and taken away. It seems so…unreliable? I just don’t understand why people fall so readily in love knowing that it could be taken away?”

Katala’s smile softened. “I’ve been in a few relationships. Some of them ended painlessly, others…not so much. Yeah, it sucks, but I never regretted them because I was happy while they lasted.”

“You are so brave,” said Tristian. “To pour your heart into something you know you will lose…”

“The way I see it,” said Katala. “It’s a little like making the decision to fight or not. If I don’t do anything, I _know_ I will lose something. The bad guy will hurt someone, or I never get the love I want. I know what I want, and I’m not afraid of my feelings.”

“That’s very admirable,” said Tristian. “It’s just that, when I imagine falling in love, I want it to be a love that lasts beyond death.”

“I would also like that very much,” said Katala. “That’s why I think it’s worth the time and effort it’ll take before I’ve found the person I can share my life with.”

“And, how do you know if you’ve found that person?” asked Tristian. “Is it instinct? Do you use your judgement? Forgive me if I ramble, but I’m desperate to know.”

Katala didn’t skip a beat. “I follow my heart. It doesn’t make mistakes.”

Honestly, he should not have been surprised by her answer. Everyone in the barony knew that the baroness was a creature of passion. She just radiated sincerity. With Katala, what you saw was what you got. She was powerful and unstoppable, but also completely without guile.

Tristian wished he could be just as real with her.

“Of course!” said Tristian. “You never hold back on anything you do. This only comes from someone who follows their heart!”

He was rambling again, but Katala didn’t seem to mind. She stepped closed to him, and this time, Tristian didn’t back away. This was probably the only chance he had to look closely at her face. Caring brown eyes, round face, and faint freckles dotting her face, she looked rather sweet, even with the prominent scar. Tristian began to feel warm, despite the chilly air. For a moment, he lifted his hands, wanting to hold her, but quickly thought better of it.

Then there was a flash of purple and green, and an owlbear appeared behind Katala.

Katala shoved Tristian away and turned to face the owlbear. She entered a rage as she drew her axe from her belt. Her dog snarled and leapt at the creature. The owlbear let out a roar as it swiped at Katala, who dodged quickly for someone her size and build and met the creature’s attacks with a few of her own. Tristian cast a blessing, washing himself, Katala, and the dog with Sarenrae’s light. He followed that up by summoning three monitor lizards. The lizards tried sinking their fangs into the owlbear’s thick hide, injecting their poisons, but the animal’s skin was tough, and it was a large creature. It would take some time before the poison had an effect on it.

With four animals and very angry barbarian ganging up on it, it didn’t take long for the owlbear to take serious damage. In one last desperate throw, it charged at Katala and slammed her into the ground.  It brought its head down and tried to bite her. She blocked it with her axe, but its massive beak broke the shaft in two. As it dove in for another bite, Katala did the unthinkable and grabbed both parts of the beak with her bare hands. Katala only howled with fury as the beak cut into her palms and fingers, and blood dripped down her arm.

Tristian fired his crossbow at the owlbear. The bolt miraculously hit the creature’s neck and buried itself in there, finally killing it.

Tristian sighed with relief. Katala dragged herself out from underneath the carcass, breathing heavily. She looked an absolute mess. She had gashes on her body, and both her palms were sliced open, but she didn’t seem to notice at all. She never did while she was raging.

Katala looked up at him. Tristian saw the rage leave her eyes. She tried to stand up, but now that she was out of rage, the pain caught up with her. Tristian immediately rushed to her side on the ground and chanted a string of healing spells.

“Whew.” Katala grinned at Tristian. “Your first big game kill. How does it feel?”

“It was awful. You could have been seriously hurt!” She did get seriously hurt, in fact. “Besides, I don’t like killing. It’s not something I take pride in.”

“Right.” She frowned. “What the hell was that? Did you see that flash?”

“I don’t know,” Tristian lied. In all the chaos, Tristian never thought about the portals or Nyrissa, but now that Katala had pointed it out, the true terror of the Bloom hit him with full force.

Oh no…

Ekun’s horn sounded in the distance. Katala and Tristian immediately stood up. She whistled at her dog to follow, and the three of them rushed back to camp, leaving the traps behind. Tristian’s heart pounded, and it was not only out of exertion. He prayed to Sarenrae that the others would be all right. If anything happened to them…

Tristian pushed himself to keep up with Katala. He would not have her slow down on his account.

When they got back, there were three dead hydra in the middle of camp. Regongar and Ekun’s wolf were badly scratched. Ekun and Linzi took some wounds, but not as many as the others. Octavia fared the worst. The wizard held her broken arm in a sling and looked very pale and clammy, as if she were fighting off a poison.

“Katala!” Linzi greeted as she saw Tristian and Katala come back. Tristian immediately attended to Octavia.

“What happened?” asked Katala.

Regongar smirked and shifted his weight to his back leg. “Ekun’s getting old. He said the place was clear, and he didn’t see the monsters coming to the camp.”

Ekun didn’t acknowledge him. “It was like they came from nowhere. One moment, I hear a bang, the next, we were attacked by these creatures.”

“The same thing happened to us,” said Katala. “There was this huge flash and…”

As Katala explained what had happened, Tristian kept mindlessly chanting his healing spells.

It had begun.

 

When Nyrissa had designed her Everblooming Flower, she had imagined that the portals would carry over the land by air like dandelion seeds, spreading doom to all corners of the Stolen Lands, creatures striking out of nowhere, everywhere in the barony. Unfortunately, the seeds were miniscule but overly dense. While some of them did take to the air, the vast majority of them stuck to the water and would only carry by river. However, it seemed that bit of misfortune carried a pleasant surprise for Nyrissa. Dozens, perhaps hundreds of people were already sick with the strange disease, not knowing that they carried a portal to the First World inside them. What a way to die. Her Hound's tiny barony would end brutally and definitively.

It still wasn’t enough. All that progress didn’t quell the emptiness in her heart. Every day, she bled more and more. Nyrissa kept _dreaming_ of her.  They weren’t sexual dreams. Those Nyrissa could deal with. Her Hound would be _there_ , standing boldly, defiantly, daring Nyrissa to take her down. Nyrissa had been…close to a good number of her previous pets, always teasing their base desires while staying out of arms reach. She knew what she could inspire if she needed to. But that was not what was happening here. Some part of her knew that her Hound wouldn’t give anything to Nyrissa unless Nyrissa came to her first, and Nyrissa _hated_ her for that. If only she would just die, then Nyrissa could forget about her and move on.

Nyrissa needed her gone. She needed it so much it hurt. She needed she needed she needed she needed she needed…

And the more Nyrissa fought with her new pet, the more her Hound proved her strength of will and persevered, and the more Nyrissa was reminded of herself, and the more it just _hurt_.

Nyrissa had felled hundreds of kingdoms. She had charmed many leaders, use them, discarded them. Never had one of them affected her so. It wasn’t fair. _They_ took Nyrissa’s ability to love, yet it seemed she could still feel the longing and heartbreak without experiencing the joy that came from being around or thinking about that person.

It needed to end. It needed to end _now_.


	6. Chapter 6

The Everblooming Flower was going far better than Nyrissa dared to dream. Not only was the barony flooded with monsters, not only had hundred been infected with this brutal “disease”, but the people were also quickly losing faith in their “baroness”. Having seen first-hand how this disaster could crush people’s hope, Nyrissa quickly used their despair to spin a narrative of her own. Her new prophet was quick to spread word of how the newly established barony was an affront to the true mistress of the land and that they must dispose of the false leader. Even among those not quite far enough to fully join this new Kingdom of the Cleansed, it didn’t take long for rumors to circulate that the baroness was cursed.

It was so delicious watching her Hound run around and chase these endless monsters, only to have more and more spring up all over the barony. Nyrissa wasn’t the only one to enjoy the spectacle. Katala's own people were watching, and more and more were starting to realize how helpless their hero really was, how they could no longer count on the protection of the brave warrior who had defeated the Stag Lord.

She was especially pleased with her Skylark’s reports. The poor thing would always look absolutely wretched as he recounted the Hound’s progress. His lovely golden hair was disheveled, and he looked like he hadn’t gotten any sleep since the Flower bloomed.

“Please, I’m begging you,” he had said one night. “Children are dying. Whatever you want, this isn’t worth it.”

As black-hearted as Nyrissa was, even she was disgusted at his hypocrisy. Oh, her darling Skylark wanted so badly for the horrors to end, but for all his sniveling, he didn’t want it badly enough to sacrifice his immortality and actually stand against her, even with the strange power she had over him.

The funny thing about Nyrissa’s servants was that while each and every one of them still had their free will, disobeying her orders had dire consequences. Most denizens of her home would die painfully on the spot if they even thought about going against her orders. Her former sisters were the ones most thoroughly bound to her. Their lives were entirely in her hands, and they could not even try to turn from her, doomed as they were to share her path. Only Evindra seemed resistant to Nyrissa’s power, which was why Nyrissa had her trapped in a water clock in Whiterose Abbey.

As for the Skylark, as of right now, the worst thing that could happen to him was that he would be overcome with extreme fear. The loneliness and longing for Sarenrae would completely dominate his thoughts, interrupting speech and paralyzing him on the spot. Even then, it was only when he would try to defy a direct order, and Nyrissa knew that she only held that power over him for as long as he feared losing his divinity. Should he learn the truth, or somehow overcome that fear on his own, he could easily slip the leash. Perhaps, if she kept him for long enough, he would become as doomed and wretched as all the other denizens of her House. Until then, she would just have to put up with his antics.

Oh, Nyrissa was very aware that her Skylark had tried to subvert her at every turn. She let his little rebellions go, confident that he was powerless to truly stop her. It was rather aggravating that he had warned her Hound about the attacks on Bald Hilltop. If Nyrissa had truly held his immortality in her hands, she might have pressed the issue, but she still needed him. It wasn’t worth tipping her hand just yet. For all his meddling, his attempts were half-hearted, as if he were resigned to the fact that there was nothing he could do.

Coward.

Nyrissa visited both her Skylark and her new priest in a shared dream. The priest knelt before her.

“You’ve done well, my champion,” she said. “I can already feel the land start to breathe again. The Cleansed who have accepted my blessing have ascended to my realm of splendor. All that I require now is the head of this cursed fiend, this so-called “baroness”, and only then will the people have my forgiveness.”

“I will not fail you, my goddess,” said the priest.

“I know you won’t,” said Nyrissa. “Once my Skylark has lured her into your gathering, you will kill her.”

The priest looked up with manic hope in his eyes. “It will be done,” he said.

She dismissed him. Her Skylark, who had up until now stood in stoic silence now had a pleading look in his gold eyes.

“Please,” he said. “Katala is a good woman and cares deeply about her people. She doesn’t deserve your wrath.”

A shot of anger jolted through Nyrissa. Did he think she didn’t know that? How dare he think he knew her Hound better than she did? Instead of lashing out at him, she sauntered over to him, a sickly-sweet smile on her face.

“So, my darling, is this an example of angelic goodness?” She stroked his face oh-so delicately. “What is the life of one woman against the many, many more that die from the Bloom? The Bloom that _you_ helped create.” She sharply withdrew her hand, enjoying how much he squirmed under her gaze. “You were all-too-happy to throw these people into the lion’s jaw for your precious immortality. Don’t get squeamish now.”

She gave herself a moment to savor the pathetic, beaten look on his face before sending him away.

 

Tristian walked up to Katala in the throne room. It was a testament of how lying had become second nature to him that, with what he was about to do, he still managed to hold it together as he addressed her.

The baroness rested easily and with dignity on that massive throne made of leather and fur. She wore no jewels or fancy capes, instead taking court in her armor—which really was a patchwork of hide and chainmail, and her “legwear” was really a very large belt with panels hanging off of it—her long, brown hair was as unkempt as it ever was, and her muscled body wouldn’t put anyone to mind of a lovely maiden or a graceful dame, but none of that seemed to matter to her. Her expression and pose didn’t betray a hint of self-consciousness or uncertainty. Tristian always thought that she was rather majestic in her own way.

“Katala, spare me a few minutes. You are the ruler of these lands and I don’t dare tell you what to do, but I just can’t stand silently and watch what’s happening behind your back!” He told her the lie that Nyrissa needed him to say. His only saving grace was that his performance was tinged with real concern. That cult that Nyrissa and her prophet had started _was_ a true danger to the people. Tristian really was concerned for the peasants that Nyrissa had manipulated into joining this cult. He really did want to do something for the people who were so desperate and so resigned to the horror that was happening around them that they would willingly accept such gruesome deaths just so the violence and misery would have some meaning.

Katala picked up on this right away, like Tristian knew she would. He knew from her past that she would _not_ stand there and do nothing while her people suffered, and it pained him to know that he was taking advantage of it to get her outraged and concerned, even though the danger was real.

“It’s absurd, and dangerous, for the people to consider death a blessing,” she said. “We must get to the bottom of this.”

The rest of the façade should not have gone so smoothly, but it did. This beautiful, passionate woman was as selfless as she was strong, and it was very easy to make her act when she felt her people were in danger. Tristian had no doubt that if he had just come out and told her the truth behind the cult, she would have gone anyway, just to save those people.

Tristian “found” an acolyte of the cult, another innocent victim of this tragedy. Of course, Katala wasn’t particularly graceful at that meeting. She got so upset at this poor girl getting dragged into the cult that she blurted out that she (Amalia) was brainwashed. At one point, much to Tristian’s consternation, Katala even told her point-blank that she was the baroness that the cult hated so much. Fortunately, Amalia, bless her soul, refused to believe it.

Tristian watched in anguish and fear as Amalia walked away. They had the time and place for the next gathering. Tristian had placed the lure and directed Katala to the trap. His work was technically done. He had to have done it.

And yet…

“You okay?” asked Katala.

Tristian snapped out of his reverie. “Yes, just worried for these people.”

Katala looked at him sadly. “Yeah, hopefully we’ll figure out what the hell is going on. Will you come with me to the meeting?”

Nyrissa had only ordered Tristian to lead Katala to the trap. She didn’t tell him to do anything else. She didn’t…

And yet…

“I would insist on participating in this investigation. I cannot let you go alone after I dragged you into this strange affair.”

What was he doing? Even though Nyrissa never forbade him from interfering, even though that strange power she had over him didn’t activate, she still held his divine essence in her hands. She could destroy all that he ever was.

And yet…

Katala had thwarted one of Nyrissa’s traps before. Perhaps she could do so again.

“Amalia looked at you rather fondly, didn’t she?” Katala smiled teasingly.

What? “Funny you should notice. An unusual observation. But please, let’s return to the task at hand.”

 

Tristian and Katala listened as the First Faithful gave his speech to his congregation. There were a _lot_ of cultists here. Tristian hoped that most of them would run away once the fighting started, but he knew how desperate these people were, and how charismatic people like Nyrissa and the First Faithful could rile them up. The nymph would not be happy with Tristian once all this was done, and yet, he did not feel the crippling fear right now. He was free to do what he wanted, and he would not let Katala face this alone.

Knowing what would happen next didn’t make it any less horrific.

True to the plan, as soon as the First Faithful saw Katala, he called her out and called for his followers to kill her. Octavia cast a Web spell over the area, trapping most of the cultists in place. Katala called out to her party to focus on the First Faithful, but in the chaos, it was difficult to follow what happened next. Some of the cultists managed to detangle themselves from the web and came at them with clubs and pitchforks, forcing the party to fight them. Regongar in particular didn’t care who he had to tear through.

A woman from the cult tore her way out of the web and lunged at Tristian with a knife, her eyes feral and furious. Tristian tried to fend her off, to reason with her, but she would have none of it. One of her attacks struck true, and she sliced into his arm. Tristian stepped back to get away from her, but he got caught in Octavia’s web the moment he set his foot back.

Katala’s dog rushed in and pinned the woman to the ground. She screamed as the dog tore her throat out. The blood sprayed out everywhere, some of it landing on Tristian.

Katala landed a grievous wound on the First Faithful. As he staggered back, clutching his bleeding shoulder, one of Nyrissa’s portals appeared behind him. He looked at Tristian with rage. Coincidentally, Katala was standing right between them.

“The goddess will hear of your betrayal,” he spat before fleeing through the portal, letting it close behind him.

Having seen their leader flee and their friends die, the remaining cultists that weren’t trapped in the web fled for the hills. Linzi dispelled the web, letting the others go. If any still had thoughts for violence, they quickly changed their minds when they saw Regongar’s intimidating glare.

Tristian was shaking. His white robes were covered in blood, both his own and that of the cultists. His head spun. So much death…

“Tristian!” Katala ran to him. “Are you all right?”

“Yes…” he said. “No. No, I’m not all right. I’ll never get used to how quickly a peaceful conversation can turn into a bloody battle. This was so cruel and… pointless.”

Katala put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “I know.”

Tristian shouldn’t have let her touch soothe him, but in that moment, it felt like she was the only thing holding him to the ground, and it took him some time to gather himself.

“What was that he said about betrayal?” she asked.

“I don’t know. Perhaps he believed you “betrayed” the goddess by not submitting to the knife.”

“Hm, I don’t know about that,” she said. “Why would he actually believe that I would sacrifice myself like that?”

Tristian lowered his head. “Who knows what was going on in his insane mind?”

Katala decided not to pursue the other cultists. Hopefully what they had seen would scare them away from the cult. Tristian would try to do something for them when they got back to the capital. Right now, he had another concern.

Nyrissa would not be happy.

 

When Nyrissa would come into his dreams, Tristian would never know what to expect. One night, he would be back in that fortress she had kept him in, the next, he would find himself in a strange manor with ever-changing rooms. Sometimes, he would “wake up” in the middle of the night at camp while the others still slept, and she would be standing there, weaving her way around his sleeping companions, lingering over Katala for ever a short moment before addressing him.

This time, Tristian was in the First World in the middle of a misty colorful forest. The trees were thick and rubbery, and the only sound to be heard was the whispering of the wind through the branches.

“Hello!” he called out. His cry was swallowed by the mists and trees. “My lady?”

“Was there _any_ truth to what you told me?”

Tristian nearly jumped when he heard Katala’s voice. It sounded so vivid that Tristian could have sworn that she had been standing right next to him.

A dirt path opened up before him. Taking the hint, Tristian stepped forward.

“Or did you lie to me this entire time?”

Tristian picked up the pace. The sound of her voice, the inflection of the accusation, the feeling of hurt and betrayal sounded so _real_. If it were an illusion meant to taunt him, then Nyrissa had captured Katala’s essence so well that he could actually believe that this was something she would say.

“Was the friend I fought for and struggled to help merely a mask?”

“No!” Tristian cried as the trees creaked and moaned, as if they were laughing at him. He tripped over a root and fell to the ground.

“If you’re going to betray me at least tell me why!”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “Forgive me.”

When Tristian looked up, Nyrissa and Katala stood facing one another up ahead on the path. Nyrissa regarded Katala with a cold fury, while Katala stood there, cautious, but unyielding.

“Insolent wretch! Die with your barony, then!” Nyrissa snapped her fingers and a bolt of green lightning struck the Katala image, disintegrating it.

Nyrissa turned her piercing gaze to Tristian, and, before he knew it, she was standing over him with one foot pressed against his back. He felt as if two gashes had been rent above his shoulder blades. He cried out in pain as Nyrissa’s foot pressed down even harder on the phantom wounds. It wasn’t his only torment. The ground beneath them crumbled, giving way to darkness below. Tristian fell and kept falling, mimicking his fall from Sarenrae’s grace. Despite this, Nyrissa still pressed into his back with ease.

“Look at me.” Her cold voice pierced through him, and he forced himself to turn his head towards her. Despite the absence of light, he could see her very clearly: her dangerous, frightening beauty, her vibrant, but icy blue eyes, and the fact that she was quivering with rage. Tristian tried to squirm away, but she held him in place as easily as if he were a rag doll.

“Now what should I do with you?” she asked in a vaguely sing-song manner. “I could destroy your divinity, and you, right here, right now. Shall I do that? Shall I annihilate your very soul?”

“Please forgive me.”

“Silence!” Nyrissa pressed down even harder on him. His breath was knocked out of him, and his ribs protested under the pressure. She smiled a predatory smile, her teeth gleaming. “No, I think I will let you squirm around in the dark, leave you completely alone surrounded by enemies. I think that will be a suitable punishment.”

She pushed down on him again. This time, Tristian was propelled away from her falling faster and faster into the abyss.

For the next few weeks, Tristian heard nothing at all from Nyrissa or her servants. No orders, no dreams, nothing. Just silence. Tristian had even tried to return to the abandoned keep through both its entrances and found that he couldn’t. The portal at the Temple of the Elk wouldn’t open, and the Verdant Grove was completely overrun with plants and monsters. Tristian had no idea what to do. Without any way to get his wings back from Nyrissa, Tristian was completely lost.

So, this was what Nyrissa had meant when she had said that she would leave him squirming in the darkness.

Jubilost walked in at the start of a council meeting, holding a tome that looked rather large in his arms. He hoisted up onto the table in front of Katala.

“What is this?” asked Katala.

“I’ve had my contacts in Kelesh and Absolam look into the ordinances of the Sarenrite Church, and wouldn’t you know, Tristian does not appear on any of the records.”

“Are we seriously talking about this at a council meeting?” asked Katala.

Tristian smiled. “The church where I was ordained was small and remote. It was often overlooked in most major records.”

“Hmph,” said Jubilost. “So, you’re telling me, and the baroness that your parents, two foreigners from an incredible distance, came all the way to Kelesh, deposited their baby in a tiny backwater shrine, and left?”

Katala watched as Jubilost made his statement. She seemed especially interested in Tristian, as if wanting to hear what he would say next.

“I cannot possibly guess my birth parents’ situation or their thoughts at the time,” said Tristian. “It is what it is.”

“Do we really need to have this conversation again, Jubie?” Octavia asked. “Sarenrae gives him spells, doesn’t he? She wouldn’t give spells to an evil person.”

“It seems it once again falls on me to correct the misconceptions held by those of lesser intellect than mine,” said Jubilost. “Anyone with a modicum of sense knows that priests of less scrupulous gods can and do pass as priests of other gods with a somewhat common regularity.”

Harrim shook his head. “I know the petty rituals and foolish chants of the other death-denying gods, and our young Tristian most definitely follows Sarenrae and gets power from her.”

“Baroness,” said Jubilost. “I strongly suggest you take this matter seriously, if not for yourself, or us, then do it for the barony.”

Katala actually thought about it for a moment. Tristian looked down at the floor as he waited for an answer. Of course, Jubilost was right. Tristian never begrudged him that. Just as he wouldn’t begrudge Katala or anyone else for what would come next.

Katala shook her head. “Whatever his past is, Tristian is with us now. He’s a solid member of this group, and I would not be here without him. I’m sorry, Jubilost, but I’m not helping you on this one. And please don’t bring this up when we’re discussing barony issues again.”

Jubilost picked up their ledger and walked over to Tristian. “For the good of our party, I will find out what you are hiding, and believe me, you will not distract _me_ with pretty looks and honeyed words.”

Tristian immediately stood up, his mind and posture hardened. While there was general outrage at Jubilost’s comment, all eyes were on Tristian, as if he had cast a large shadow on the room.

“Accuse and investigate me if you wish,” said Tristian, “but I strongly ask that you do not make any insinuations about our leader.”

With that, Tristian walked out of the room. He was shaking. Not from anger—the gods knew that Jubilost was right—but that meeting reminded him that, as Nyrissa had said, he was alone, technically surrounded by enemies. He was not a valued comrade, like he had led them to believe he was, but a spy for a malevolent force intent on bringing down Katala and the barony. If they found out about him, it was possible that they might kill him and send his soul to Pharasma. He couldn’t keep pretending that everything was all right.

“Tristian!” Tristian turned back to see Katala running towards him.

Now, everyone in the party knew about Katala’s hugs. That woman was not shy when it came to showing affection to her friends and loved ones, and she was as strong as an ox. She didn’t just hug. She would lift her target off the ground and _squeeze_. Not even the most hefty party members like Amiri or Regongar were spared. Tristian himself had been the recipient of such hugs; his ribs were still sore from the last encounter. This was not what she was doing now. This time, when Katala put his arms around him, she simply held him close and tight, not tightly enough to hurt, but enough to instill a sense of safety, almost like she was trying to wrap herself around him.

“I trust you,” she said. He had no idea how to respond. Eventually, he rested his head on her shoulder, melting into her arms. Everything was going wrong, he was far from home, he had lost his only way back to his goddess, he had caused so much harm, and now he had been reminded that Katala would be furious and hurt if she found out about any of this. But right now, in this moment, someone cared for him.


	7. Chapter 7

When Tuskdale had first been founded, Linzi hadn’t been sure whether to rent her own house or just grab a room at the new castle (which hadn’t been much of a castle at the time; the only difference between it and the rest of the small houses was that it was somewhat bigger and was reconstructed from stone). After a few days sitting in on meetings, collecting material for her book, and finding that she spent most of her time either adventuring, in the castle, or at the tavern, she had finally appropriated a room for herself in the castle.

It could be safely said that no one had seen the top of her desk in over a year, covered in books and parchments and inks as it was. A large bookcase lined the wall; next to it stood a ladder that she could use to get to the top shelves. A huge, bulky chest stood at the foot of her tiny bed, completely eclipsing it from the door.

Linzi was just finishing parsing up the notes she had taken on Katala’s performance with the goblins at the Lonely Mill when she heard a knock on the door.

“Come in,” she said.

Tristian opened the door and walked inside.

“I hope I’m not disturbing you,” said the cleric. “I have something that I need your help with.”

“No problem,” said Linzi. “Take a seat.”

Tristian approached one of the stools next to her desk, gently set the book that was on top of it to the desk, and sat down. Anticipating that she would need a _lot_ of space for her work, Linzi used a large human-sized desk and just used an elevated chair to sit down. Tristian had no problem sorting himself out.

“Lately, I’ve had…issues, things that I’ve been trying to piece together that I’ve been hoping you could help me with.”

“Like what?”

Tristian turned his gaze to the floor, his face obscured by his hood. “As you may have noticed, my life of service to my goddess has left me woefully unprepared in dealing with other mortals. As such, I have difficulty judging certain emotions in others…and I think maybe myself.”

“Okay,” said Linzi. “What do you need help with?”

Tristian sighed. “How do you know when you have fallen in love? Forgive me, but it has been bothering me for some time, and I need to know.”

“It’s okay,” Linzi said awkwardly. She had a feeling she knew exactly why he was bringing this up. Everyone in the party could see that he and Katala had eyes for each other. “Well, let’s get one thing out of the way. You’re a priest, so I assume you know about…where babies come from and all that?”

“You mean copulation?” Tristian asked. “Yes, of course.”

“Oh good,” said Linzi, unable to contain her relief. “But I have to ask, why me?”

“I…forgive me if I make assumptions, but you’re a bard. You must have heard some tales that could help me. Besides…” Tristian coughed. “I feel you would do better than anyone else in our circle of friends.”

Okay, that was a good point. Linzi could just imagine what would happen if Tristian had asked Octavia or Jubilost or anyone else.

“I…would really like to recognize when…if I’ve found someone I…” He paused. He was actually starting to sound a little frantic. “And what to do when I get there.”

“Well…” Linzi was a bard, but romance wasn’t really her strong suit. If Tristian had been expecting her to break out into an epic ballad about beauty and passion, he would be sorely disappointed. “It’s like, when you really, really want to be with someone, and you imagine doing things with them that might involve, um, copulation, but not always and…” She looked up at Tristian. The fact that he looked completely serious and studious as he considered her every word was not helping.

“Look,” said Linzi. “There’s a book I know that would explain this better than I can. It’s called _Nights in Katapesh_. I think you’ll get some idea of what love and romance feels like from it.”

“ _Nights in Katapesh_ ,” Tristian repeated. He stood up. “I’ll go find it. I cannot thank you enough, Linzi!”

“You’re welcome,” said Linzi. Then, just as he was about to open the door to leave, she said, “Good luck. I’m sure she’ll be thrilled.”

Tristian stopped. “She?”

“Oh, I thought maybe you and Katala had something together.” She laughed. “Sorry, it was just a silly rumor.”

Linzi expected that anyone would be a little embarrassed right now, but Tristian looked _mortified_. “I see. How many people have heard?”

“Not many,” Linzi lied. “Just a few people here and there who like to gossip. No one _really_ believes it.”

Tristian sighed with relief. “Thank you, Linzi.”

“Anytime!” said Linzi. Poor Tristian. She hoped that he wouldn’t find anything _too_ shocking in that book.

 

As the investigation into the Bloom went on, Tristian sincerely did his best to help Katala and the others. To his immense relief, he was able to direct them to a cure, saving the life of the brave woman who had volunteered to the…surgery as well as many others. Tristian was surprised that Nyrissa let him get away with this much, especially after he had failed her so badly. Perhaps his failure at the Kingdom of the Cleansed displeased her so badly that it couldn’t get any worse with her (she still had not contacted him since).

Or perhaps she was so confident in her plans that she didn’t think that there was anything Tristian could do about them. The gods knew that Tristian himself didn’t have much confidence. And yet, Katala had traced the source to a village of goblins, Katala had ensured Madla would survive the surgery, Katala had unearthed a cult of Lamashtu (even if that lead had been false), and Katala had driven away the bandits from the bridge. With every accomplishment, Tristian couldn’t help but feel a little bit of hope that they could overcome this. Even the people were starting to regain hope. When Katala spoke to them, she employed no clever wordplay or impassioned performances. Instead, she won them over with her sincerity and drive to do everything she could to protect her people.

Tristian was still too afraid of Nyrissa to tell his companions everything, but he did his best to guide them to the source of the seeds. If Katala’s feelings for him had in any way influenced her to take his counsel, he didn’t want to think about it.

 

They were here at last, the root of all the barony’s ills, the source of everyone’s suffering, this so-called “Womb of Lamashtu”. Tristian would take the deaths of Kesten and his men close to heart. When Katala saw the bodies of her men, Tristian watched as sorrow went to rage.

“We’re here now,” she said. “And we will find out what’s responsible and put an end to it!”

“Yes,” said Tristian, and he really believed it.

They ventured deeper and deeper into the caves as stone and moss gave way to strangely-hued grasses and flowers not native to Golarion. They walked further and further until they literally fell into the First World. Unlike the caves, this open world was bright, but the light filtered through a blue and purple haze. Thick, cloying mists hung over everything.

“What now?” asked Regongar. The way back was gone. It was hard to tell where they were, but from what little they could see through the mists, it looked like a small clearing on the side of a mountain, surrounded by trees.

“We keep going,” said Katala. “We need to find out where the seeds are coming from and a way out of here.”

Walking through the mists was an ordeal that not even Tristian could help them with. The mists distorted not just the senses, but the space around them. They’d walk in one direction for half an hour, just to come back to the same spot. They’d take one step and find themselves unable to turn back.

The party walked for hours through the mists until finally, there was a change. Tristian’s heart nearly went to his throat at the sight of Nyrissa, but they quickly learned that it was just an apparition. She looked completely different from the entity that enslaved him. Here the nymph still looked proud, but lacked the cruelty that he knew, and she seemed very vulnerable.

“Get ready.”

“Get scared.”

“Listen.”

“Learn.”

A flaming entity appeared before Nyrissa. Unlike the other illusions, this one was so vibrant and gave off such heat that it was difficult to tell whether it was real or not.

“You sought for yourself a kingdom.” The entity’s voice rumbled throughout the clearing. “I seek something simpler: an apology.

“As you sought to steal a kingdom for yourself, so must you do again, for a theft, a true theft, must be practiced to be earned.”

The entity commanded her to make ruins of kingdoms. Each kingdom she doomed was to be collected in a goblet to presented to an Eldest once it was filled.

“Where will I find so many nations? It is…” said Nyrissa. Tristian never thought that he would ever hear the nymph beg.

“An impossible task?” The hairs on the back of Tristian’s neck stood up at the playful, almost child-like tone this creature used when talking about the ruination of millions of lives. “No, let your unrequited love guide you. It guided you to your first kingdom, so it shall again.”

The entity did…something to Nyrissa. Tristian wasn’t sure what. There was a glow centered on Nyrissa’s chest, and the nymph bent over in pain as a black spasm wriggled out of her body into the air.

“It is not an impossible task. After all, what use is an apology if it can never be given?”

The images faded.

“She’s the one behind this?” Katala said. She turned to the rest of the group. “That’s the nymph who helped me with the Stag Lord and…tried to kill me. This is why she did this?”

“Ha ha, well now you’ll get a chance to get even,” said Regongar.

“I know she wronged us,” said Octavia, “but I can’t help but feel bad for her.”

They met a cryptic gnome who gave them a lantern and a riddle on how to destroy the Flower and get back to Golarion. Every step of the riddle brought another vision of Nyrissa. The next one showed the nymph on the ground, holding herself, whether in pain or despair, Tristian could not guess.

“It’s so quiet, I can’t hear my own heartbeat. Or have they taken that from me too?” said Nyrissa.

Tristian looked to Katala. He was somewhat dismayed at the look of pity in her face. Nyrissa’s necklace dangled off a side pocket in Katala’s backpack. Even though Katala never wore it anymore, she still kept it close. Tristian kept his lips shut. It wasn’t his place to tell her whether to keep it or not.

The next vision was that of a conversation Tristian had had with Nyrissa long ago, only the apparition that represented him was heavily concealed to the point of almost being without form, and his voice was heavily distorted, clear, but unrecognizable as him.

“No one will ever see my tears again. Not he mortals of Golarion or the one who cursed me,” said Nyrissa.

“You wished to see me, my lady,” said the Tristian apparition.

“My Skylark, your song is sad today,” said Nyrissa. “What troubles you?”

“Your last order, my lady…it frightens me. The seed of an Everblooming Flower is almost prepared, as you requested. But what will it bring?

“The Flower contains immense power—power from which immense evil can be born. Monsters erupting on Golarion by the hundreds…in a crowded street, a busy tavern, a baby’s crib…”

“That’s exactly what I need,” said Nyrissa. “He wanted to see kingdoms in ruins? He will.”

The apparitions disappeared.

“Who the hell was that?” asked Katala.

“That man,” said Ekun. “He seemed remorseful.”

“Who cares?” said Regongar. “If he’s responsible, he dies.”

“I don’t know about this guy,” said Linzi. “I mean if he helped with the Bloom then...” She shook her head. “Then again, it did seem like it was the nymph’s fault.”

Katala shifted the axe she carried over her shoulder. “I guess we’ll deal with him if we run into him.”

Tristian was about to plead to them to show mercy on this “mysterious” person, but he could not find the words.

They solved the gnome’s riddle and poisoned the Flower, but it was not over yet. In order to kill it, they had to destroy the Flower in both worlds simultaneously, just as Tristian had planted it in both worlds at the same time. The Flower’s guardians defended it fiercely, requiring the party to split up and defeat both groups with fire and steel until, at last, the Flower was no more than a withered stalk.

“Burn it,” Tritian pleaded. “Destroy it to prevent it’s evil from spreading again.”

Katala looked on the thing that threatened to destroy her barony. She took a step closer, rage filling her eyes, and…stopped. Where before, the plant was angry and predatorial and dangerously beautiful, now it was shriveled and pathetic. The only bit of life left was this bit of root still clinging for life. Tristian watched in horror, but said nothing as Katala cut off a bit of that root, wrapped it in a cloth, and put it away, tucking it in the pocket of her backpack next to the necklace, holding it safe.

They burned the rest of it before heading back to the tired, battered capital.

 

After the Bloom had been dealt with, there was a period of reconciliation, of letting things sink in. For most, it was a time of relief and mourning; the horror had just ended, and it was time to rebuild. For Tristian, it was pretty much the same, only another realization had dawned on him. The Bloom was gone. Katala had just defeated a weapon that Nyrissa had been building for decades. The baroness, this human woman with no magical abilities, had gone far beyond what Nyrissa and, he was ashamed to admit, he had ever expected. Could this woman challenge Nyrissa herself? Tristian still had doubts, but now he was completely sure that Katala would at least have a fighting chance against anything Nyrissa threw at her.

She was truly incredible.

The nymph still hadn’t made contact with Tristian, nor did Tristian feel the strange power compelling him to obey. Not when he helped fight the Bloom, not when he warned them of another attack on Bald Hilltop, not ever. It was a relief, but it was also a curse not to know when or if Nyrissa will ever give him his wings back, if he will ever see Sarenrae again.

Tristian also couldn’t ignore what was growing between him and Katala. After the Bloom had been dealt with, Tristian purchased a copy of _Nights in Katapesh_ and spent every moment he could studying it. What he found was…not what he had been expecting. First off, the word choices were completely pretentious. He found it very hard to concentrate when the author described the act of disrobing with “the sash tumbled down her luxurious curves like a crimson wind bearing diamonds and silk”.

He also had issues with the text as a whole. At best, it put lovers on a pedestal, creating a standard that was impossible for mortals (or most anyone) to live up to. At worst, it encouraged some absolutely horrible behaviors. He wondered how two people who supposedly loved one another could be so awful to each other. Still he kept reading, thinking that perhaps there was something he was missing.

 

When they next set up camp, Tristian spied Regongar staring at him. The magus grinned like the cat that swallowed the canary.

“If you have something to say, please say it,” said Tristian.

“Barbarians do have a certain appeal, don’t they?” Regongar asked. “Muscled body, little to no clothing…it really makes you want to see if they fuck as wildly as they fight, doesn’t it? Though, I didn’t think _you’d_ be into it; with your body, our leader would probably snap you in half.” He chuckled.

“Insult me if you wish,” said Tristian. “But do not involve her.”

“Oh, I’m not involving her, not really,” said Regongar. “It’s _your_ sudden hunger for tall, beefy women I’m interested in. Though if you like muscles, I’d be happy to give you a…demonstration.” Regongar laughed.

“Do you know why I decided to follow Kat?” Regongar said slowly, deliberately. “Here Octavia and I were, bound in chains, about to be dragged off to the Technic League like meat. Then Kat and the others come in, covered in blood from the other Technic League goons they killed, and she starts slaughtering every Technic League fool in that camp, including their leader, and she turns to me and Octavia and says that there will be no room for slavers in her new barony.”

Regongar’s smile widened. “Then you come along, babbling about mercy and forgiveness, and things suddenly get very boring.”

“Katala was never a creature of mayhem and slaughter,” said Tristian. “Even when she kills, she does it because she feels it is the only way to protect the people around her. All I did was show her another way.”

Regongar chuckled again, leaning on his sword. “Well I guess our enemies can thank your pretty looks.”

“If you don’t have anything important to say…” said Tristian.

“Hey, I’m not criticizing _too_ much,” said Regongar. “If she ever does convince you to go to bed with her, let me know. I’ll keep you two company.”

 

Tristian studied the treatise again shortly after his conversation with Regongar. The others were busy with their camp duties, and Tristian wanted to get as much done as possible while he still had a little daylight left. He _thought_ he had managed to stay away from prying eyes until…

“What are you reading?” Katala’s voice made him jump.

“Ah! Katala! I didn’t notice you!” He quickly stashed _Nights in Katapesh_ into his sack.

Katala laughed. “That’s all right. I hope I wasn’t bothering you.”

“Not at all!” said Tristian. “I was just reading.”

“ _Nights in Katapesh_ , huh?” she said.

“You know it?” he asked.

“Not really, but I couldn’t help but notice the…descriptions in it.”

“I learned about this…treatise from Linzi,” said Tristian. “I asked her advice and she recommended that I read…this. She said it’s the best you can get about…the passions.”

“Did you learn anything useful?” she asked.

“Not really,” said Tristian. “I feel the more I read, the more confused I get. I probably just don’t understand anything about literature.”

“What confused you about it?” she asked.

“I don’t know. I…” He sighed. “That’s the thing. I don’t even know how to express what I’m confused about because it seems that everything I say just sounds…I don’t know…false…? Like it doesn’t fit? I thought I could wrap my head around some issues—no, problems—that I’ve been having lately.” He paused. “I don’t know how you do it. You always say what you mean, and it seems it just comes easily for you.”

“Well, to be honest, it’s because I just don’t think about it that much,” said Katala. Then in a somewhat exaggerated voice, she said, “You know me and brain stuff. If I think too hard, I get a headache.”

He laughed softly at her joke. “I…don’t think that way about you at all. I’ve seen you make decisions, and I notice that you see things that others don’t. People underestimate you, but you’ve always surprised me with your wisdom.”

She played with the end of one of her braids and smiled. “Thanks,” she said softly. “In all seriousness, though, some things you just can’t find in books.”

“That’s very strange to me,” said Tristian. “I feel the greatest wisdom of Golarion is expressed in the words of numerous books—even the divine mercy of Sarenrae finds its reflection in her sacred text…”

Katala took him by the hand. Her hand was rough and calloused, but strong, gentle, and very warm. It was strange, but Tristian felt safe being held, protected. Cautiously, he squeezed her hand. Almost without thinking, he said, “You have such warm hands. Like you are full of sunshine.” He looked away. “That probably sounded as terrible as the book.”

“Not at all.” She smiled. “Come with me.”

Hand in hand, she led him away from the camp. Tristian almost mindlessly followed her, his heart pounding. They had set up camp on a hilly meadow. Katala led him behind a small hill, away from sight. The two of them lay down in the grass to watch the setting sun. This wouldn’t be a secret. Of course, the others would wonder where their leader went. Of course, sharp-eyed Ekun would have noticed them walking away. Regongar already suspected them, as did Linzi. But right now, it was just him and Katala, the warmth of the sun on his face and the warmth of her hand on his.

“You know, I could lend you a better book,” said Katala. “One with pictures.”

He looked at her quizzically. He was about to ask her what the book was, but then he noticed that the left corner of her mouth turned upward and wondered if there was a joke that he wasn't getting.

“How do you feel?” she asked.

“Relaxed,” said Tristian, “content. No, better than content. It’s like I don’t want this moment to end.”

Now he understood why mortals could get a little high-strung when talking about their feelings.

They turned to face each other. When he looked into her eyes, the feeling of calm and safety intensified. It was easy to block everything else out. He was still anxious, tentative, like this moment might slip away from him.

Wordlessly, Katala placed her other hand gently on his cheek. Tristian froze. The warmth on his cheek spread down to his neck and shoulders. He softly put his hand over hers and melted into the warmth.

“Don’t worry too much,” she whispered.

Turning his face into her palm, he touched his lips to it. It wasn’t a true kiss, but he couldn’t deny the sensation that coursed through him.

“Full of sunshine,” he whispered into her hand. Being with her felt so _right_. Why shouldn’t they just stay in the meadow? It was so tempting to forget who he really was, about Nyrissa, about everything he had done…

The guilt hit him like a bucket of cold water. He snapped his eyes open. This _wasn’t_ right. What was he thinking? Nyrissa was still plotting against the barony, and at any moment she could come back and bring him back to the fold. “Forgive me!” He pushed her hand away. “Forgive me. I’m out of line.” He quickly stood up and brushed himself off. “I pray to Sarenrae that you are not mad with me.”

“Tristian, it’s fine, really,” said Katala, though Tristian could tell that she was disappointed. He had made a mess of everything. Even without Nyrissa hanging over them, the man that Katala wanted was a lie. It would be wrong to start anything with her under false pretenses.

“Believe me, I care very much for you,” he said before hurrying back to camp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> High WIS and low INT FTW!


	8. Chapter 8

The moment Tristian’s lips had touched Katala’s palm, he knew that what he felt for her was love. Looking back even further, since they had first met, Tristian now realized that his feelings were not new. Love was nothing like he had read in the treatise (which he was admittedly grateful for), just this longing he felt every time he thought about her. It was nothing like he had ever experienced in his life. Katala was truly the most wonderful person he had ever met: a humble heroine taking on all the bandits in the Stolen Lands and becoming a protector for the people. She was the kind of hero his kind dreamed of following and helping on their journeys.

Loving Katala did not erase the love he felt for Sarenrae, who he still longed to see again with his every being. Sarenrae didn’t forbid Her divine servants from falling in love, or even from acting on their feelings. However, for an angel, their deity came before everything else. Love and relationships could only be attended to after the angel had fulfilled all their ever-demanding divine duties for the moment. In Tristian’s long life, he had seen a few of his angelic brothers and sisters fall in love with mortals. Their happiness was very brief, if it didn’t end in tragedy. Tristian had never understood why an angel would choose a path that would lead to loss and sorrow. How could any mortal compare to their eternal, loving goddess?

The answer was that they couldn’t. As much as Tristian felt that Katala and Sarenrae had some things in common, what he felt for and wanted from each of them was much different, though equal in intensity. With Katala, Tristian loved that she was always within arm’s reach, that he could go to her for anything (save the fact that he was still in Nyrissa’s service), that she cared for him in spite of his shortcomings, that she would always be there for him in a real and tangible way. Even when Tristian had been a deva, there had always been this immeasurable distance between him and the Everlight that just wasn’t there with him and Katala.

And yes, there was also the fact that when Tristian thought about Katala, he thought about that kiss in the meadow…and perhaps going even further with her. Needless to say, it was _not_ something he wanted from his goddess.

But his goddess was everything to him. “Mother” did not quite describe what Sarenrae was to him, but it was close. As distant as She was, She was the one who gave him life and his life’s purpose. Her mercy and light were inscribed into his very being. He just couldn’t live without Her.

And this was why the silence from Nyrissa was just so painful.

Katala kept researching curses. It nearly got to a point of obsession. Whenever she could, she kept Harrim and Octavia very busy researching the various curses they had encountered on their journeys. She would often consult Tristian, even though his role in the research got smaller and smaller.

“The strange thing is,” Katala said almost excitedly as the two of them met in the castle garden. The research on the root of the Everbloom Flower allowed the gardeners to plant a variety of First World flowers. While beautiful, it made Tristian uneasy to look at them. “…you don’t have to have any magic at all to curse someone here. The well in the swamps, Jenna Tennerson, Ivar…It’s like what’s being said is more important than the curses themselves.”

Tristian nodded. “I noticed as much. I have seen many small cases where an angry neighbor wished them ill in the heat of the moment, then the poor victim would get sick for an inordinate amount of time. Fortunately, this happens very rarely, and the results usually aren’t lethal. The cases we pick up seem to be very unusual.”

“I really hope so,” said Katala. “I don’t want another Davik Nettle or a bunch of Scythe Trees running around the barony.” She paused. “I wonder what causes these ‘special cases’. Is it because the curse is stronger in some places or what?”

“I’m not sure,” said Tristian. “Perhaps something was missing from the ‘normal’ cases. Perhaps something else needs to trigger in order for the curses to get more serious.”

“Another trigger…” she said thoughtfully. “Hey, Tristian. The nymph we saw in the First World, the one I met at the start of my barony, she was cursed, right? That’s why she’s doing all this…”

Tristian froze. Though Sarenrae taught mercy and forgiveness, Tristian had only seen cruelty and destruction when dealing with that nymph. After everything Nyrissa had done and what she had made Tristian do, after all the torments she had put him through, the fear and the pain and the nightmares, he wasn’t sure if he could find it in his heart to forgive her, though it shamed him to feel that way.  

“It is sad, but if we ever encounter this nymph,” said Tristian. “Please think of your people first. Whatever redemption you think you can give her…it is not worth waiting until more people suffer because of her.”

Katala blinked. “This really isn’t like you at all. I thought you would jump at the chance to redeem an enemy, especially if it looks like they’re suffering, too.”

“Of course,” said Tristian. “But Sarenrae also teaches her servants to take swift action when innocents are suffering. A future chance of redemption is not worth someone else losing their life.”

“It’s funny,” said Katala. “I think _I_ used a similar argument when you tried to talk me into showing mercy to some of the Stag Lord’s bandits. What if we’re wrong and the person we spared goes off to hurt someone else?”

“These bandits weren’t a danger anymore,” said Tristian.

“But you can never really know, can you?” she asked.

“I...suppose not,” said Tristian. “I just want to make sure that, if you do find that nymph again, your choice will be the correct one.”

Katala laughed. “Oh, don’t worry. If I meet her again, I will stop her. One way or another.

“You know,” she continued. “This might sound somewhat silly, but I’m really glad that you like me for who I am.”

“How can I not?” said Tristian.

“I know I can be wild, and crude, and a little violent sometimes. When we first met, I already know that I liked you a lot, and I wasn’t sure how you would take being around me.”

Tristian smiled. “I will take more than a little crassness to drive me away from you, and I am no stranger to battle. There has never been a time where I felt like I wanted to be away from you.”

Katala smiled, playing with one of her braids. “I guess I underestimated you.”

 _And I you_ , Tristian thought. “I have no problem with powerful and passionate people,” he said in a voice that was lower and softer than he had intended, “as long as they are kind.”

Katala’s smile widened, her cheeks turning red.

 

The Everblooming Flower, Nyrissa’s secret weapon, the doom she had spent years perfecting, had ensnared a powerful deva to plant, had placed almost all her hopes in, had come to see as almost a child, was now dead and gone, shriveled up and burned. Nyrissa should have been furious and despairing, but these feelings didn’t come. Once the dust had settled, she actually felt intrigued by what had happened. Her Hound had proved to be far stronger than she ever had thought.

Nyrissa would give her Hound some time to recuperate. The Flower was hardly the only weapon Nyrissa could use on the barony. Now that her Hound proved that she could play with the big boys, Nyrissa wanted to see how well her new pet would fare against other creatures in her menagerie.

As for the Skylark, Nyrissa honestly thought of just cutting him loose. She had almost no use for him now. Every task she had set him out to do, he had either completed, bungled up, or both. He had completely failed to kill the baroness at the Kingdom of the Cleansed, and the Flower that he had helped to plant was now gone. The only thing he had succeeded with was opening the portal at the Bald Hilltop, but that would take time to become stable enough to send her whole army near the capital. Still, it required nothing to keep him around. He might still have some use as a spy in her Hound’s court.

Who knows? She may need him still.

 

“Varnhold went missing?” Katala asked as she read the letter from Jamandi.

“We hadn’t had contact with Maegar Varn for months,” said Kassil. “The Swordlords want you to get to the bottom of this as soon as you can.”

Well shit. Normally, Katala would be annoyed that Jamandi would order her around like one of her servants, even though Tuxony was supposed to be an independent power, but out of every noble in this region, Maegar was the only one worth a damn. She knew how everyone at that banquet looked at her: just a brute who got to where she was through violence and barbarity, barely any better than the Stag Lord himself. They all saw her as either a pawn in their games or an obstacle to be removed.

But not Maegar. Unlike Hannis Drelev or Lebeda or even Jamandi Aldori, the mercenary captain had treated Katala like an equal. Though Maegar had come from a noble family, he got his barony the same way she had: by clearing out the sons of bitches who were robbing and killing innocent people in the region. He was also the only one who bothered to send help when her people were being devastated by the Bloom. He was a good friend, and not a bad drinker when she had gone to visit him.

Besides, it wasn't just Maegar. The people of Varnhold were also in danger. She wouldn't stand by and do nothing even if those people had belonged to Hannis Drelev.

“I’ll get right on it,” said Katala.

 

Nyrissa visited her Hound in a dream. The baroness was running through a forest in the First World. Amusingly enough, her dog came with her. Nyrissa wondered at the bond between her Hound and that animal. It was very similar to a druid’s animal companion. Was this bond supernatural? Perhaps it was a holdover from the Hound’s upbringing with the druids.

Her Hound was rushing, always rushing, always eager for a chase. Nyrissa would give her something to bite in to.

The baroness stopped when she saw Nyrissa’s silhouette. The barbarian readied her axe. The dog growled and went back on its haunches.

“Where are you rushing off to, my Hound?” said Nyrissa. “To face your own death?”

“Why are you here?” her Hound demanded. “Going to try to kill me again?”

“Why am I here?” Nyrissa mused. “Kill you? Not today. Believe it or not, but I came without evil intentions. I’ve been watching you, my Hound. You’ve escaped my trap. You’ve destroyed my beautiful Everblooming flower. Such a strong will to live—in such a fragile mortal creature…Once, long ago, it hurt me to see flowers being torn apart by the wind. But today I watch you thrashing like a moth caught in a spider web, and I cannot turn away.”

“If I’m the moth then what are you?” asked the Hound. “The spider?”

“I am the web itself,” said Nyrissa. “The moment you took your first step in the Stolen Lands, you fell under my power.”

“So, you were the one behind the Bloom.” A flash of anger filled the Hound’s light brown eyes. “What did I or my subjects ever do to you?”

Nyrissa couldn’t help herself. The look in her Hound’s eyes reminded her so much of herself. “There was a time when I used to ask myself the same question. What had I or my Thousandbreaths ever done to them? Why did I have to endure this?” She cut herself off, flaring with her own anger. “You’re wrong to think that your problems began with you. The Everblooming Flower was created long before your barony was founded. I prepared my weapon long in advance, having no idea what I would turn it against. Everything has a price. Thousands of lives must be turned to dust for a single act of forgiveness.”

The look in her Hound’s eyes softened. “I’ve visited the First World, nymph. I’ve learned about your story…and your curse.”

“What…how?!” said Nyrissa.

“I saw you on a dias,” said the Hound. “There were these…things taunting you, and a large, powerful being.” The Hound loosened the grip on her axe a little. “They did something to you, didn’t they?”

“Enough! My untamed home world has many miracles to offer. One can never know what it will reveal and to whom.”

“It sounds like you’re in trouble yourself,” said the Hound. “Stop trying to kill me and my subjects, and maybe I’ll find a way to help you.”

“You want to aid the storm that strikes you and your lands?” asked Nyrissa. “Help? Why? Though I do not want to know. You will ‘help’ me—voluntarily or involuntarily—with your death.”

 “What’s your name?” the Hound asked.

Nyrissa narrowed her eyes. “Names can be powerful weapons in capable hands. You’ve no need to know my name. No need.” This creature had glimpsed enough of Nyrissa’s soul already.

“Are you also behind what happened in Varnhold?”

Nyrissa’s lips curled into a smile. “I can answer, but will you believe me? I have nothing to do with it. But I know who’s responsible. I won’t tell you, though. Run now towards your death, Hound. Run, Hound, run! I want to see you stumble.”

“Enough of all these hints and half-meanings!” the Hound demanded. “Why are you here?”

Another flash of anger rushed through Nyrissa. How dare she? This creature belonged to Nyrissa, just like everything else in these lands. “Why shouldn’t the mistress visit her pet?! Farewell, my Hound. You have no idea what powers have awakened, and now you voluntarily rush into their jaws. If you run your blade down their throats, I won’t be disappointed. If you perish, I’ll have forgotten you by dawn.”

“Right,” said the baroness as the dream faded. “Just like last time. I’ve proven you wrong before. I’ll do it again.”

 

Tristian found himself in the First World again.

“So, you were the one behind the Bloom,” came Katala’s voice.

Tristian lowered his head. Not this again.

“Seems like you’re in trouble yourself. Stop trying to kill me and my subjects, and maybe I’ll find a way to help you.”

What a cruel trick. Even if Katala did want to save him after everything he had done, there was nothing she could do.

“I’ve proven you wrong before. I’ll do it again.”

Suddenly, Nyrissa stood before him. The nymph’s eyes were frantic with glee. “I have good news, my Skylark. I’m giving you another chance to get your wings back.”

Tristian felt as though his throat had been tied into a knot. Salvation was in his grasp again, but it would come at a terrible price.

Nyrissa continued. “Some of my agents have discovered the existence of a long-forgotten tomb in the Tor of Levenies. Right now, my sisters are combing the Cyclopes ruins in Dunsward to find clues to its location and how to get inside.” Nyrissa smiled wickedly. “It just so happens that my Hound has been called to that area as well, and that her investigation will lead her right to that tomb.”

Tristian had a near visceral when Nyrissa called Katala her Hound. He didn’t want Katala to belong to this monster. “You mean Varnhold?” asked Tristian. “You know what’s behind this?”

“Oh, yes,” said Nyrissa. “An ancient and powerful Cyclopes lich named Vordakai awoke from his slumber and compelled the baron and the entire town to walk to their doom using an artifact called the Oculus of Abaddon.”

Tristian’s eyes widened. The Oculus was an artifact of great evil, created by the Horseman of Death. It had the power to control the minds of many people at once and to reveal truthful visions at a terrible cost to the user.

“Progress has been unbearably slow,” said Nyrissa. “But our baroness has proven to be very capable. Should she find Vordakai’s tomb before my agents do, I want you to take the Oculus of Abaddon and bring it to me.”

Tristian’s head snapped up. “My lady, please. The Oculus of Abaddon is very powerful, but it is also a vessel of great evil. It brings doom to those who use it. I beg you, even you don’t deserve to have such evil brought upon you.”

“You will do as I say,” Nyrissa retorted. “I will tolerate no more arguments.”

Tristian suddenly imagined two broken wings hanging limp and heavy from his back. The cloying darkness that he had been able to ignore in Nyrissa’s absence now suffocated him. He suddenly flashed back to the nightmare of falling in darkness as the Everlight went farther and farther away from him, and he knew that he would do anything Nyrissa told him, no matter how horrible.

“Yes, my lady,” he said.

“Another thing,” said Nyrissa. “Once you obtain the Oculus, you will come right back to me, my Skylark. I will no longer need you to stay with the baroness.”

“I…understand,” said Tristian, feeling heavy and tired. Once this was over, Katala and the others would know that he had betrayed them: Linzi, Valerie, Octavia, Ekun, Harrim, Jubilost (who would no doubt feel vindicated), and even Regongar and Jaethal (as loathsome as she was, at least she never caused as much destruction as he had with the Bloom). Jhod, that poor man, Tristian didn’t want to think about how his most stalwart friend would be crushed once he found out that the vision from “Erastil” was no more than a lie. Katala…

Nyrissa cooed and cupped Tristian’s face. “Don’t look so sad, my darling. If you succeed, I will give you your wings back.”

 

Tristian woke up the next morning, gasping, nearly weeping. So, this is how it would end. Just one more thing left to do and he would be free. Just one more thing…

Tears ran freely down his face. This was all a nightmare. He would carry all that he had done for the rest of his existence.

And Katala. Oh, the demands of faith were high. To even glimpse his beloved goddess again, he would have to hurt the woman he loved in the worst possible way.

She would be fine. He knew there was a chance that she would survive, maybe even a chance that she would win. He prayed to Sarenrae that Katala would triumph. But it wouldn’t be with him by her side. Once this was over, he would never see his beloved again.

He had to end it. It was probably too late to prevent a heartbreak, but if Katala was to survive, she would need to focus, especially if Vordakai had already taken one baron.

 

Tristian stopped her in the streets of Tuskdale. “Katala, we need to talk.”

“What is it?” she asked. There was concern in her voice. Tristian knew that he didn’t look his best right now. He had been fretting all day, trying to come up with what he wanted to say, then saying the words over and over. Nothing helped. He still felt a mess.

“Lately…lately I have been troubling you needlessly,” said Tristian. “All those questions, conversations…and everything else…I know I distracted you from your duties. It was selfish of me to demand so much of your attention. I promise it won’t happen again.”

“I don’t understand…” The hurt in her voice was too painful. Tristian almost lost his nerve.

“Please, don’t,” said Tristian. “You are a baroness, the ruler of the Stolen Lands, protector of hundreds of people. I can’t distract you, especially…especially now when a baron from the neighboring lands has gone missing! The same danger might hover over you! What if…I can’t let this happen!”

“I don’t care,” she said. “You and I can overcome any danger together!”

“No! Please, think about yourself, about those who depend on you! Many fates hanging by a thread…”

Katala took a step closer and put a hand on his shoulder. “Tristian, it’ll be fine.” Though she tried to comfort him, her voice was just a little uncertain and her eyes just a little pleading. “We’ll be fine. We’ve faced these odds before and come back.”

“Enough!” Tristian stepped back. “I’ve decided I wish to end this.”

It hurt more than anything to see the look on her face, but Tristian forced himself to keep looking at her, to see the hurt he was causing her.

“Okay,” she said softly.

She turned away, looking like she was about to cry. She didn’t seem like she was going anywhere, so Tristian slowly started to walk away.

“You know this won’t help,” she said. “I’ll still think about you a lot.”

Tristian stopped. “I know. I will pray to Sarenrae for you.”

He walked off, his heart heavy. At least he was as honest with her as he could have been; that she could meet the same fate that Maegar Varn did was a worry. At least she wouldn’t think that her brash and crude personality had driven him away.

Tristian always feared getting his heart broken. He just didn’t know it could still happen even though Katala had never been truly his.


	9. Chapter 9

Thousandbreaths was a vast demesne of wonder. Flowers and reeds bloomed and swayed to their own melodies. Trees grazed the heavens, collecting water from pearlescent clouds and light from the sun, stars, and rainbows and forming thousands of literal diamonds and crystals, which rained on the fairy dragons below. Nyrissa’s fey vassals frolicked among floating island cottages above. The sweet melody of a thousand birds could be heard throughout the demesne, bright and vibrant when there was a celebration, low and somber when Nyrissa cried, and soft and soothing when all was at peace. In the distance, atop a mountain was Nyrissa’s home, a sparkling House that existed at the edge of time.

Nyrissa relaxed by the river, where the sound of the current hummed in harmony with the choir of birds. Her nymph sisters splashed in the water further down river, their laughter sweeter to Nyrissa than the song of the most beautiful lark. A guest was with her. A mortal, large and brutish compared to Nyrissa’s nymph sisters, lazed with Nyrissa near the bank, her rough and strong fingers running through Nyrissa’s hair. Nearby, a dog ran around, chasing the tiny simian creatures that populated the First World.

“I hope you’re okay with the end result,” said Katala. “The only thing I know about braiding is what I learned from Ulfen men who liked to style their beards.”

“As long as it’s from you, I’m sure I’ll love it,” said Nyrissa.

The barbarian gathered Nyrissa’s fibrous hair and pulled them together. Each strand of Nyrissa’s hair was a shiny, thin green vine. Long red petals were also entwined with the fibers, deceptively soft and fragile.

“I keep thinking I’m going to rip your hair out,” said Katala.

Nyrissa laughed. “Don’t you know that the brightest flowers are also the most dangerous? You’ll find that I’m stronger than most.”

“Ha! Don’t I know it!” said Katala.

Nyrissa looked out over the river and trees and sky. It could all be so much more. If she could challenge the Eldest themselves and build a true kingdom, a sanctuary that was free from their games or their whims.

Nyrissa woke up as empty and broken as she had been for thousands of years. Her dreams were just getting worse. Hardly a night went by where Nyrissa didn’t see her Hound. The dreams sometimes were of what could have been if the two of them had met before Nyrissa got cursed, but mostly, Nyrissa’s Hound would meet her face-to-face and plead with Nyrissa to let her help end the curse, to turn back from this mad path. The Hound was always kind, even pleading, but she never backed down, never yielded.

Her only comfort was that she was so close to getting the Oculus and finding what the Eldest had stolen from her so long ago. For so many years, she had given up hope of ever finding the Briar again. Now that this new hope had arisen, her aching and yearning to get her heart back had reawakened along with it. After so long, to think that it was almost over. The end of this suffering, of this curse. It was so close, she could almost taste it.

 

Nyrissa came back to Tristian in his dreams, demanding regular reports. The nymph was demanding, but all her commands carried a tone of excitement as Katala got closer and closer in her investigations into the missing Varnhold.

Sometimes, Tristian would hear Katala’s voice in those dreams. Sometimes, Katala would express hurt and rage at his betrayal. Sometimes she would plead with him to turn away from this evil path. Sometimes, Tristian would hear her laughter in the distance. Tristian would never see her. She was always distant, yet almost real. He had never before encountered an illusion so well-crafted that it pierced his heart whenever he heard them. At first, Tristian thought that Nyrissa had discovered his growing feelings for Katala and was using these illusions to torment him, but Nyrissa never once brought them up when she was talking to him. Oh, she loved to taunt him in other ways, reminding him that she still had his wings, gloating over all the terrible things he had done for her, and other things to remind him that he was still under her power. Yet for some reason, his love for Katala never came up.

Then again, Tristian could never really know what went on in Nyrissa’s head.

 

Varnhold was even worse than what the reports had said. It wasn’t just the baron who had disappeared, but everyone in the town was gone. The last time Katala’s party visited Varnhold, the place was filled with construction, travelers gossiping at the inn, bawdy music, people coming and going, fishing, planting, praying, guards keeping watch for bandits, people hoping for a new start. Even the baron himself would be down here among his subjects, bartering with merchants, or buying everyone drinks at the inn. Now, there wasn’t a soul in sight.

The sun shone brightly on this clear day. Birds chirped, and the gentle wind rattled the signs on the houses and nets on the river, but it only made the quiet even more noticeable. As Katala and the others searched the town, the found almost all the doors unlocked, everyone’s possessions undisturbed, meals left on the table in the middle of dinner, and animals either dead of starvation in their pens or wandering around outside. No one in the party saw any signs of a struggle.

Katala and Ekun hunched over a large set of human tracks heading out of town.

“Do you think we can track these?” Katala asked.

Ekun looked south where the tracks were headed. “Difficult,” he said. “Outside of town, animals, monsters, and bandits also walk these lands. Also, there are mountains to the south. It will be harder to track there.”

“It’s worth a shot,” said Katala. “We should also check on Maegar’s other subjects. There must be some other villagers in the region who might know something or need protection.”

Ekun nodded. He frowned as he observed a set of fresher and smaller tracks going into town.

“What are these?” asked Katala.

“Very recent,” said Ekun, “probably happened a day or two ago. With footprints that small, probably either gnomes or…”

The banging of a pot dropping could be heard from nearby. A group of Spriggans were trying to sneak out of one of the houses, their arms laden with the possessions of the house’s owners. Upon seeing the group, the Spriggans dropped everything and attacked. The group easily dispatched the thieves.

They encountered more Spriggans as they got closer to the fortress in the center of town. They had to do battle with the leader of the Spriggans. As was obvious, the Spriggans had nothing to do with the people of Varnhold disappearing and were just scavenging the unguarded holding. Katala let them go, never to invade another village on pain of death.

Now that the Spriggans were gone, Katala and the group had a chance to look around Maegar's stronghold. The place was small, much smaller than Katala's castle in Tuskdale. The "throne room" seemed to double as an office. In the center was a large, but simple wooden chair, presumably where Maegar would take council. Off in the corner was his desk, where Katala found a half-finished letter addressed to her.

"Look here, everyone," she said. "An adventurer named Willas Gunderson brought an artifact to Varnhold."

"Gunderson?" asked Linzi. "The same guy who asked about a treasure in Candlemere some time back?" 

"I don't know," said Katala. "No one in Varnhold knew what it was. Maegar was just writing to me to see if anyone in Tuxony could take a look before...well see for yourselves."

Katala held it in front of her party members. Maegar was just writing a line about how he would be perfectly willing to repay the favor before it completely cut off. On the bottom of the page, scrawled in sharp, messy lines was, 'VORDAKAI VORDAKAI VORDA', before cutting off mid-word.

"Anyone know what this means?" asked Katala.

"I have no idea," said Linzi.

Octavia shook her head. "Me neither."

Tristian kept silent. The words were right there, stuck in his throat, and he had to keep his lips firmly closed, so afraid was he to blurt out everything he knew. But he knew it would have been strange for him to suddenly have so much knowledge on a ruler long-forgotten by even the wisest men on Golarion.

Katala found another letter. This one was addressed to Maegar. It had no name at the bottom. Instead, the writer had elected to sign it as "your friend". Whoever it was didn't like that Maegar had tried to cozy up to Katala and help her during the Bloom and made veiled threats against him. Katala pocketed it. Right now, they needed to figure out what happened to the town.

As the party walked out of the stronghold, a raven watched Katala.

“Hypocrrrrrite!” it said in a cracked voice.

“Um, what?” said Katala.

“Hypocrrrite,” the raven repeated. “What’s the point of your false pity forrr these fools who you allowed to live?” The raven cawed. “With no shelter, no family, and no homeland, always on the run… all you did is prolong their sufferrring…and take pride in your...‘chivalry’.”

“That’s not true,” said Katala. “Agai still has a chance for a fresh start!”

“Miserrrable hypocrrrites” said the raven. “You seek to justify yourrr actions? There is no justification, no, no, no.” “Why are you herrre? Are you one of the thieves that lived in this miserrrable settlement?”

“I’m not from Varnhold, but I will find out what happened here,” said Katala.

“You?” said the raven. “What arrrogance! What pride! You, thrall? Do not follow one crime with anotherrr… you will suffer the same fate. Who arrre you?”

“I’m guessing you’re new to these parts if you still don’t know who I am!” said Katala. “Why don’t you take to the air and ask around?”

The raven took to the skies. Tristian watched as it flew away. Could this creature be tied to Vordakai? This certainly was very troubling. He hoped that Katala would get to the bottom of this…regardless of what would come next.

As he was lost in thought, he felt a warm, calloused hand wrap around his own. He turned back, surprised, but then relaxed when he saw Katala’s face. The barbarian looked concerned.

Tristian smiled. “Not the most pleasant omen, right?” He squeezed her hand before letting go. To think that he still needed her this much… “Let’s not waste any more time here.”

They group followed the large mass of foot traffic heading out of Varnhold. As Ekun had predicted, the tracks got harder and harder to follow. In addition to the normal bandits and wild animals, the group also found tracks from a very large humanoid. There were also signs of another large group of humans and humanoids traveling through the region. They even found the remains of a large campsite: a cold firepit, bones from various animals killed and cooked on the spit, and even some pikes on the ground.

Octavia picked up a talisman off the ground. “Well, well, someone’s far from home.”

“What is it?” asked Katala.

Octavia held up the talisman, smiling. Regongar grinned.

“Tiger Lords. All the way from Numeria,” said the magus.

“How did they get here?” asked Katala. “If they came from Numeria, then they would’ve had to cross Brevoy or Tuxony. There’s no way Jamandi or I would’ve not heard of a group that big crossing our lands.”

Regonar shrugged. “Beats me. If they’re still around, they'll be hard to miss.”

The party hardly encountered any of Maegar’s other subjects. Most people in Dunsward or the Tor of Levenes lived in tiny villages that had already been established before Maegar Varn claimed the area and haven’t had much regular contact with Varnhold or its baron. None of them had even heard about what had happened in Varnhold, though they did tell tales of undead emerging from Cyclopes ruins.

The trail coming out of Varnhold stopped cold. They met a small group of Kellids. Katala, who was half-Kellid herself tried to engage with them in broken Hallit. From the looks on their faces, Tristian wasn’t sure how well that conversation was going.

He noticed that one of the Kellid women was coughing up a greenish-blue phlegm. He pulled at Katala’s arm. “I think this woman is ill. We should ask if they need help.”

The leader of the Kellid group said in common, “We don’t need your help.” But the sick woman berated him.

“I’m not gonna die for your pride,” she said. “Yes, I’m sick. Caught bluespit somewhere in the barrens.” She coughed up another wad of blue phlegm.

After Tristian healed her, the Kellids gave them directions to the main camp of the Tiger Lords. An old, but battle-hardened general named Dugath greeted them. They were given a place of honor at the table. After Katala spilled the first goblet of wine on the ground for the spirits, the meal began in earnest. Though hunting was thin, Katala had a wonderful time laughing, boasting, and drinking with the other barbarians. She even took on their strongest warriors and beat them in wrestling. Unfortunately, no one at the camp knew what happened to Varnhold.

“You have a distinct style of fighting,” Dugath said to Katala. “Ulfen, correct?”

“That’s right,” said Katala. “Both my fathers are Ulfen. They employed Ulfen beserkers to guard their enclave…”

For Tristian’s part, he kept mostly to himself. One of Nyrissa’s Sisters was in the camp. Both he and the Sister ignored one another, but he still kept watch on her from the corner of his eye.

“…the Mammoth tribe,” Katala said. “My mother’s tribe used to come to Brevoy from Numeria to trade with a village not far from my father’s enclave. One day they just stopped.”

“I think I heard about something like this,” said Dugath. “A whole tribe vanished without a trace.”

“So, you don’t know, either,” said Katala.

“I’m afraid not,” said Dugath.

Their conversation was interrupted by the Defaced Sister. Dugath’s already dour expression turned severe when the Sister approached him.

“I beg you, I haven’t seen my sister in several days,” said the Sister. “I’m afraid they may be in trouble.”

“This whole land is nothing but trouble,” said Dugath. “You want me to risk my life and the life of my people to do your dirty work? Go ahead and ask Armag to give the order. Oh, but Armag stayed back in Numeria, which means I’m the one making the decisions here.”

“But what about my Sisters? Something terrible could happen to them.”

Dugath glared at her. “You Sisters insisted on this expedition, so it’s your price to pay, with your blood, not ours…”

Dugath and the sister argued until the Sister finally got the message that Dugath would not be sending any of his men to help her. Defeated, but angry and fretful, the Sister walked away.

Once she was gone, Dugath was free enough with his information. The barbarians had come here using magical means to search for an unknown artifact, which Tristian knew to be the Oculus that Nyrissa so desperately wanted. As he listened, he couldn’t help but feel a little sorry that these people had come so far from home and had lost many lives due to whatever lie the Sisters had told them.

When Katala went to address the Sister, Tristian was immediately on guard. The Defaced Sisters, other servants of Nyrissa were skilled liecrafters, like he was. The Sister spun a tale of a hidden wisdom and lost secrets found in these lands. If only her other three sisters were here, they would be able to give the truth of what happened to Varnhold.

When the Sister spoke of how she and her Sisters sacrificed their faces and identities to serve a benevolent spirit, Tristian couldn’t help himself. “How honorable,” he said sarcastically. “Pray tell, do these spirits have a name?”

“Don’t speak of what you don’t know, cleric!” she snapped at him.

Katala agreed to search for the other Sisters, only if because it was their only lead. The group set out all over Dunsward and the Tor of Levenes. They rescued one Sister in the City of Hollow Eyes. Next, they traveled to the Forsaken Mound, which was merely an ancient structure with no monsters and traps already sprung.

They found the body of one of the Sisters. Curious, Katala peeled off the mask the Sisters always wore.

Though Tristian had seen the Sisters often when he was Nyrissa’s captive, he never once saw one of their faces. The skin was hard and gnarled like the bark of a tree, the mouth crudely carved below the hollow nose.

“What in Calistria’s name is that?” asked Regongar.

Linzi tiptoed forward. “I’ve never seen anything like this, but I think it might be a fey.”

“Just what were the barbarians working with?” asked Katala.

They grabbed the incense burner and left.

The Sepulcher of Forgotten Heroes was more complicated. As soon as they stepped in, they found the floor riddled with corpses. Tiger Lord corpses.

“By Cayden, what happened here?” asked Katala, barely containing her fury.

They found a survivor among the bodies, a young man left blinded and crippled. He pleaded with the party for a swift death, as he would be no use to the tribe now. Katala would have none of it. Tristian was able to fix the young man’s legs but could do nothing for his sight. The group would have to take him back to the camp once they were done here.

As they walked through, they had to defend themselves from undead Cyclopes and more Tiger Lords, who had fallen under an enchantment and could not be reasoned with. Each barbarian death made Katala more and more visibly angry.

By the time they found the last Sister, Katala was livid. The barbarian marched right up to her.

“What the hell is going on here?!” Katala demanded.

“There are times when you cannot protect the living without visiting the dead,” said the Sister. “In the depths of blackest darkness lie the truths that will once more shine their healing light on the surface.”

“Bullshit!” Katala grabbed the sister by the collar. Her eyes were bulging, and her face was red with rage. For once, Tristian agreed with her anger with every bit of his being. “Of the entire group that came with you, one person survived, and that corridor was strewn with the bodies of people you brought here to die. What is this ‘exalted mission’ of yours that demands such sacrifice? What do you offer these people beyond suffering and death?!”

Katala let the Sister go. At Katala’s words, the Sister broke down in tears, clutching the large slab in the middle of the room.

Tristian stared at Katala, awestruck. He remembered how the Sisters gladly partook in Nyrissa’s cruelty, how suffering and lies came just as easily to them as they did to Nyrissa. But he also remembered one Sister in particular who merely turned a blind eye to what the others had been doing, who had always tried to justify her and her Sisters’ actions.

“I cannot believe it…” said Tristian. “The truth in your words has stunned her to the core!” Turning to the Sister, he said, “Please. Tell us the truth.

“You’re right…” said the Sister. “You’re right a thousand times, even if you don’t realize why. But I…I am loyal to my Sisters, and to the powers that sent us here. I cannot betray them. I just…cannot. Do you understand?”

Tristian suddenly felt a little remorse. He thought back to all the times Nyrissa’s power would fall over him, choking and blinding him until he agreed to obey. The Sisters had always been so eager, so complicit in Nyrissa’s crimes that it never occurred to Tristian that they might be under that same power.

The Sister rambled about how she and her Sisters have never lied and that they only meant good for Katala. It took Tristian a moment that the Sister was speaking in code, saying the opposite of what she meant as a warning. He could only pray that Katala understood.

The Sister gave Katala her incense burner and left the tomb.

The group brought the injured barbarian back to the Tiger Lords. The first Sister betrayed them and tried to rile the Tiger Lords against the party, but Katala was able to make half of them see reason. It was a bloody mess as the group had to take down the remaining Sisters and half the Tiger Lords.

Dugath looked down at the bodies of his tribesmen. The barbarians would now return to Numeria. Before they went, Dugath gave Katala the location of the Valley of the Dead, where they would find the artifact the Sisters were looking for.

The Valley of the Dead. Tristian’s heart dropped. This was Nyrissa wanted. Now he knew for sure that it was only a matter of time before he would betray the group, betray Katala. He thought about that moment where she had tried to kiss him after that sparring match and wondered what might have been. 

 

Tristian reported his progress to Nyrissa the following night. The nymph didn’t seem that bothered that three of her Sisters were now dead.

“The Valley of the Dead,” she said. “My Hound is a clever girl. Excellent work. Make absolutely certain that you are there when she fights Vordakai. You remember the curse? The words you have to say?”

Tristian could only nod. Nyrissa had drilled it into his head over and over in his dreams. The hour at hand was so close, only days away.

“Don’t look so sad,” said Nyrissa. “It will all be over soon. There is only one thing left, just one.” Nyrissa’s voice sounded so manic, her gaze so distant that Tristian wasn’t sure if she was talking to him.


	10. Chapter 10

As they got closer to the Valley of the Dead, the grass became thinner and dryer, the party found fewer and fewer animals, and all became quiet. Even the wind dared not blow as they got nearer to the cursed tomb in the heart of the mountains. Even the party themselves felt the dread chill. While before, they would chatter and laugh and argue amongst themselves, now the only sounds that could be heard were their footsteps as they trod the dry, barren earth.

The present gloom that hung over the party was probably why no one thought it was strange that Tristian trudged along like a man going to the gallows. Over and over, the thought that this will all be over soon repeated itself in his head. Tristian will get the Oculus, bring it to Nyrissa, get his wings back, and return to Sarenrae’s side to face Her wrath for the suffering he had caused. Katala would stay behind and face Nyrissa’s onslaught without him, without his healing and the work he did as her Councilor and the warnings of when the next attack would come from Bald Hilltop. Looking back, it was devastating that Katala had come to rely on him so much.

It brought Nyrissa such glee when she found how deep in Katala’s confidence he was. The nymph’s laughter poisoned every bit of good he had done since he had come to the Stolen Lands. One of the worst things Nyrissa had ever done to him, almost as horrible as severing his bond with the Everlight, was to pervert his sacred purpose. Knowing who he ultimately served, it felt as though every healing spell he cast would turn the recipient to ash, every word of comfort or advice cursed to lead the other person to doom.

Their path took them to a small crag alongside the mountains. The dreadful raven perched up on the rock above them, almost leering at them.

“I’ve got a message for you, human,” it said. “It’s time to pull off the masks and answer for your deeds, human. My master has seen enough, so he summons you. Come, kneel before this land’s true ruler. Embrace suffering, embrace pain, surrender your spirit to Vordakai, the Chosen of the Four Horsemen and the Keeper of the Oculus of Abbadon!”

“I’m not afraid of your master,” said Katala. “Tell me where I can find him.”

“Go to the Valley of the Dead,” said the raven. “Pass the gates and face the challenges that await. If you survive, my master will meet you in his sanctuary.”

The creature told them of two ways to open the gates to enter the valley that would lead to his master’s tomb: either burn the incense in the burners that Katala had found scattered throughout Dunsward or conjure darkness.

After a bit of back and forth where Katala tried to taunt the insolent thing, and the raven assuring her and the party that all the lesser races will submit to his master, the raven flew away.

“Katala, we need to talk,” said Tristian.

Katala turned to face him. “What is it?”

“The Valley of the Dead the raven spoke of, I know of it,” said Tristian. “An ancient evil is buried there, from empires since turned to dust. Being cautious is not enough. If you go there, you must tread quietly, or you shall awaken dark things indeed.” “A tomb lies in the heart of the valley. That is where the evil sleeps. I know I cannot sway you from going, but if you must go, please let me help you! My faith may help when spells and steel may not.”

Katala frowned. “Of course I’m bringing you. Why wouldn’t I?”

“I know,” said Tristian. “This time I worry what kind of power we will face. I just want to at least be able to help you this time.”

“I still don’t see how this is any different from any other threat we’ve faced,” said Katala.

 _It will be the last we will face together_ , thought Tristian. “If we’re going to fight undead again, the powers that Sarenrae have granted me will be the most powerful tool against them.”

Katala smiled slightly. “We travel together, and I shall follow you to the Valley of the Dead.”

They kept going until the sun started setting over the looming mountains. Hunting was scarce. Katala only managed to come back with one skinny mountain goat. The night was dark and silent. No crickets chirped, and no rustling came from the dry, sparse bushes. Only the stars lit the sky, but even then, they couldn’t see beyond the light of their campfire. Even the campfire did little to cheer them. The flickering light cast dancing shadows on the rocks around them, and the brightness and crackling made them feel exposed in the dark quiet. They slept uneasily that night.

Tristian liked to take his watch precisely at dawn so he could recite his morning prayers as the sun’s first rays touched him. The flap of Katala’s tent was just a little open. Tristian sat there, watching her sleep. They were all used to sleeping outdoors, but Katala was the only one would could almost make it look comfortable. The barbarian breathed heavily in her bedroll, snoring softly through her nose. Tristian hoped that she was getting the most out of this little bit of peace. One of her braids fell across her face. Tristian longed to walk over and brush it out of her eyes. He found himself wishing that she might let him touch her at least once more before he…

Something large and furry brushed up against his back. Tristian turned around, surprised to see Katala’s dog. The beast had grown huge, the size of a small horse. He had heard about animal companions growing in size and strength as their masters grew more powerful. He had never seen it happen with a barbarian before. The dog circled around, sniffed him a bit, and lay down against him.

Tristian smiled and rubbed the dog on his furry sides. Hunter was a faithful and loyal companion. Tristian would miss him dearly.

It only took a few hours to get to the gates of the Valley of the Dead. A large stone bas-relief loomed above them, depicting slaves being led to an ornately-dressed Cyclopes with what looked like a star or a beacon emanating from his head. On either side of the bas-relief, two giant Cyclopes statues stared down ominously at the party. They were so large that they would have looked down on the original Cyclopes themselves. A massive black wall connected the statues to the mountains on either side of them.

The air around Tristian was stifling. The hair stood up on the back of his neck. There was evil magic here.

Katala lit the incense in the burners, and Octavia levitated them to the three hooks on the bas-relief. The single eye socket in each statue pulsed with a sickly green glow, except, instead of emitting light, they sucked it right into their eye sockets, creating two clouds of darkness around their heads. The bas-relief parted, allowing the party to enter the Valley of the Dead.

It was a long, windy trek through the valley. The mountains formed two gigantic walls on either side. They were so tall that, even though the base was wide enough to fit ten wagons side by side, the valley was cast in perpetual shadow. The only sign of life was the party making its way carefully but determinedly through. It was littered with bones, both small and large, and other bas-reliefs and tablets glorifying Charon and the other Four Horsemen.

At last, they reached Vordakai’s Tomb. The entrance was a massive mound made of black marble. The large, round door was wide open, revealing a dark passage that led downwards.

Katala addressed the group. “I don’t know about the fate of the people of Varnhold. It’s very likely that they’re all dead. But we still have a job to do. This Vordakai is still a danger to the people of Dunsward and perhaps even to Brevoy and Tuxony. If we don’t stop him now, we may never get a chance.

“Maegar was a good friend and one of our most trustworthy allies. For his sake, we’ll make sure this sack of bones pays for what he did!”

Ekun nodded. “Understood.”

“You can count on us,” said Octavia.

“Let’s rip this creep’s throat out!” Regongar yelled.

Linzi beamed and started writing frantically. Even Tristian felt his spirits lift a little. Vordakai was an ancient and powerful evil. Regardless of what Tristian would have to do, they _must_ defeat him.

They descended into the tomb. Tristian felt the weight of this place’s evil and power come down on him all at once. The sensation made him dizzy, and he almost lost his balance on the stairs. Katala turned around, ready to catch him, but Tristian steadied himself against the wall.

“Are you all right?” asked Katala.

“Yes,” said Tristian, righting himself. This was embarrassing. It would have never happened when he had been at his full power. “My apologies. Like other servants of the great Sarenrae, I am sensitive to dark powers such as this.”

“And you’re supposed to be the one who’s going to protect us against this shit?” said Regongar. Though the words themselves were in line with Regongar’s joking demeanor, the half-orc sounded genuinely angry, even a little scared. “How the hell are you going to do that if you’re just going to fall over after a few steps?”

Tristian turned to Regongar. “It is just the shock of it all coming down on me at once,” he explained plainly, without a hint of confrontation. “Now that I have my bearings, it won’t happen again.”

They continued further down. Once they lost sight of the entrance, it became pitch-black. Linzi and Tristian provided magical light.

They reached a vestibule of some sort, a wide-open room with a door on the other side. As soon as Linzi activated the mechanism to open the door, the room filled with poisonous gas, and the entrance from which they had come shut closed. Two giant corpses emerged from their sarcophagi to attack the party. Katala called for everyone to hurry through the newly-opened door while Tristian cast a spell to protect them from the poison. It would be a grueling journey.

The party walked through dark hallways containing more bas-reliefs and more undead Cyclopes that they had to fight. Linzi translated what writing she could. What was worse than the monsters was the ever-present gloom. Though Tristian sensed it more overtly—the distant sobbing of the slaves, whispered promises of power and death, and a great weight on his shoulders—he could see in his companions’ faces that this place was chipping away at their morale and humor. This placed fed on fear, grief, and loss, and it all hung over this tomb like a miasma. Tristian thought of how, when Vordakai had still been in power, his slaves, enemies, and even his supposed allies were forced to walk these chambers to get to him, how they were made to feel small, powerless, and scared. Vordakai was a creature who truly thought he had no equal, save the Horsemen, and that was the essence of which Tristian would strike at him.

They stumbled upon a lit, circular chamber, though the dull, purple light did nothing to ease the gloom. An empty pedestal stood at the center of a dais. The bas-reliefs along the walls depicted masses of people being ritually slaughtered for the glory of Charon.

Tristian looked around. “This is a dark place.”

“Well, no shit, sweetheart,” said Regongar.

“Is there anything wrong in particular, Tristian?” asked Katala.

“These carvings on the walls,” said Tristian, “they are a chronicle of rituals. They depict the worship of the most depraved of creatures, the daemonic Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. Their followers serve the will of their masters—death and destruction. Every disaster, every misfortune serves the Horsemen. Suffering and pain are what they treasure above all else. They see life as a harvest—and even knowing their nature, there are those who embrace horrific acts to gain the Horsemen’s favor.”

Katala looked up at the carvings. “Evil is an easy path to power,” she said. “It uses strength, fear, even seduction to corrupt people into hurting others. But we must stand against it, no matter what.”

She was so confident, it put Tristian to shame. “You are right. But there are times where doing the right thing…it is beyond our power.” He stopped. He knew he was making excuses for himself. He knew he should have stood against Nyrissa, like Katala said. “We should leave this place.”

They walked the giant labyrinthian tomb for hours. The raven followed them, taunting them.

“I’m impressed, human,” said the bird. “You still breathe.”

Despite the gloom and the danger, Katala still managed to smirk. “I’m just full of surprises. Now run along and tell your master his days are numbered.”

The raven’s feathers ruffled ever so slightly, though it still maintained its condescending and cold demeanor. “Such so rude and so self-righteous! But where is the confidence behind the show of courage?”

The raven’s gazed went past Katala and looked over her companions. “For whom is it that you are putting on this show? Whose respect do you fear to lose the most?”

“Ekundayo,” said Ekun. “I don’t deny my enemies the right to know my name.”

The raven cackled and flew off.

As they continued, Linzi’s translations of the tablets confirmed what Tristian had already known: that the Oculus had been a gift to Vordakai by Charon himself, and it had the power to control the minds of many at once. Tristian could only imagine what Nyrissa wanted to do with such an artifact.

“That would explain what happened to the people of Varnhold,” said Linzi. She looked up at Katala. “I’m actually kind of worried what will happen when we find it. What are we going to do with it?”

“Oh, that thing’s getting destroyed,” said Katala. “I don’t care if it fell out of Asmodeous’s buttcrack. Anything that can rob that many people of their free will shouldn’t exist.”

“It will be easier said than done,” said Tristian. He knew of a way, but he couldn’t…he couldn’t…Not at _that_ price. Nyrissa had already taken him from his goddess, forced him to betray those who called him friend, and now he will lose the woman he loved forever. Had he not suffered enough?

“Wait,” said Linzi. “What if he uses the Oculus on us? What will we do then?”

Tristian knew the answer to that. The artifact could only be used in that way once every few months. “Vordakai has had many opportunities to use it,” he said. “But has not, for some reason. I think we will be fine.”

The raven came back to taunt them again. This time, it offered the weakest and most cowardly among them a chance to flee, to spread fear into the surrounding lands.

Tristian stared at the raven with defiance. “I stand with the baroness. My name is Tristian, and Sarenrae as my witness, I will cleanse this evil place with Her light.”

The raven flew away again. Tristian wasn’t sure why he had said that. It seemed that the raven’s taunting had struck a chord with him. He felt so weak and useless in this body, and he knew he would already betray Katala. So, he had to do something to prove the raven wrong.

Up ahead, three Soul Eaters lay in wait. Tristian immediately knew that he had made a terrible mistake. Katala dealt with hers easily enough; as hers descended on her, she charged at it in a rage, delivering terrible blows on it. Ekun was also doing fine. The ranger had swapped out his longbow for a trident. Tristian only had time to cast one blessing before the last creature before it slashed at him. Tristian staggered backwards. The wound was terrible, but, when the attack landed, his mind felt fuzzy, and he found it difficult to recall some of his prayers. None of the others could do anything against these monsters; their spells and weapons phased harmlessly through them. Linzi sang her bard song, and Regongar and Octavia cast whatever strengthening spells they could.

Tristian backed away, drawing his scimitar, and cast what few fire spells he had prepared. His spells hit, but Soul Eater struck him, clouding his mind again. He had heard of the terrible way a Soul Eater’s victim could die, their soul consumed forever. He couldn’t die like this, away from his beloved goddess.

“Damn it, someone keep him alive!” Katala shouted after she dealt the killing blow on her Soul Eater. Linzi cast her healing spells on him. Regongar cast a spell on him to blur and distort his image. Octavia cast Haste. He felt a presence behind him, and someone strong clasped something around his waist. Suddenly, Tristian felt stronger and healthier. He lunged at the Soul Eater with his newfound strength, focusing on decisive cuts that would kill his attacker much more quickly, as Sarenrae had taught him. Somewhere on the battlefield, he heard Ekun sigh with relief as his own Soul Eater was slain. Only one more remained.

Tristian killed his Soul Eater at last. The creature wailed horribly and pathetically as it simmered down to the floor. His companions cheered (though he couldn’t help but notice that it was born of relief that he somehow had not died). Katala threw her arms around him and lifted him into the air. She crushed him against her, but he wasn’t going to complain.

“Gods I was so worried, but you did great, and I’m so proud of you!” she said in one breath.

She put him down, allowing him to catch his breath. As he looked down, he saw Katala’s belt of might around his waist. Katala was already incredibly strong and durable, but this belt allowed her to accomplish things beyond what a human could do, like throwing a boulder or drinking tea made from nightshade leaves.

“Thank you.” Tristian took it off and returned it to her.

They continued downward, ever downward, fighting more monsters and evading more traps along the way. At least they had been able to save a few barbarians from a powerful daemon.

The party saw a ghost running off into a corridor. They followed him past a large room filled with specters and skeletons. The found the ghost of Willas Gunderson, and, after beating some sense into the maddened ghost, he told Katala all that had happened. He had stumbled into this tomb and escaped with a bracelet, only for the newly awakened lich to compel the people of Varnhold to march into his tomb, where Vordakai had imprisoned their souls.

The poor man sobbed and shaked as he recounted what Vordakai had done to him and the other people. After subjecting Willas to the most horrific mental torture, he left Vordakai to wander his tomb, to live with the fact that this had all been his fault.

Katala placed a hand on his shoulder. Tristian’s spell still protected her from the life-draining touch inherent to all ghosts. “If forgiveness is what you need to move on, I forgive you. I’ll find Vordakai and make him pay.”

“Thank you,” Willas whispered as he faded away.

After clearing out another room full of skeletons, they found another set of stairs going down. The room was small and empty, save for a statue of an Astradaemon in the center. Even compared to the rest of the tomb, this room was saturated with pure, unbridled evil, as if every bit of horror and death from the entire tomb was condensed into this one tiny, out of the way chamber. Tristian felt dizzy again. This time, his knees gave out from under him, and Katala had to catch and steady him.

“Let’s leave this place. Now,” he said. “And we should collapse the entrance. So no one… ever…”

“Why?” asked Katala. “What’s wrong?”

“This chamber...it…” Tristian tried to clear his head. “It is the heart of the evil that fills this while tomb. Everything here bears traces of the ones Vordakai worshipped. I beg you, let us leave this place. I don’t want you to suffer Vordakai’s fate — you or anyone else. The powers of darkness are strong here. They can corrupt even the strongest of hearts.”

“All right,” said Katala. “We’ll do what you say.” She turned to everyone else. “Let’s get out of here.”

They left the little room. Octavia blasted the structure leading down the stairs, collapsing the entrance. The only other way forward was through another trap-filled tunnel. They were getting close. Tristian could feel it.

The party took a rest at the end of that hallway. Octavia memorized her spells, Tristian recited his prayers, and everyone else just took a break to replenish what resources they had. When Tristian had a moment, he approached Katala.

“The heart of the tomb,” he said. “Vordakai is close now.”

“Right,” she said. “I can’t wait to end this nightmare once and for all.”

Tristian lowered his head. “Yes, it’s time to finish this. Once and for all.”

Katala frowned. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”

“I have shared all I can,” said Tristian, smiling sadly. “Each of us has secrets and burdens we must carry alone, for the weight is not lessened in sharing them. So are your secrets yours to keep and share as you decide.”

“Tristian, you’ve been acting strangely since we got here. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“It is not...This place...it feeds on doubt, fear...loss.” He looked into Katala’s eyes. “If we were to never see each other again...would you have any last words for me?”

“Hey, come on,” said Katala. “We’ve been through a lot before, and we’ll make it through here. There’s no need for last words right now.”

“Vordakai conquered these lands once, and could do so again, easily, with the artifact he possesses. I may not survive this confrontation.” He trembled as he gave her one of the most desperate requests he had ever asked of someone. “If not, I would like to know who I was to you. I need to know if I mattered to you.”

“I thought you said that the whole mind-control thing wouldn’t be a threat,” she said.

“I didn’t say that. I simply guessed that if Vordakai wanted to at this moment, he could have used it already.”

“Based on what?” she asked. “He could use it again in when we see him in his chamber.”

“He wouldn’t waste it on such a small group,” said Tristian. “He would only want to use it on a large number of people at once.”

“Okay, how could you possibly know that?” asked Katala. “Tristian, we’re about to do battle with this thing, if what you know will affect our group…”

“It won’t,” said Tristian, though he knew it was a lie. “Yes, I am keeping secrets from you, but I promise I have done the best I could to help you fight this monster. I beg you, just please trust me on this.”

Katala buried her face in her hands and sighed. “Fine. I’ll trust you. For now.”

“Thank you,” Tristian whispered.

“As for last words, I think you know that I never stopped caring about you.” She let out a soft chuckle, and it dawned on Tristian that this would be the last time he would ever see her smile. “Okay, I know you’re being serious right now, so I’ll tell you this. You were my ally and my friend. You were always someone I could count on for anything, a kind soul among all the craziness in this land, and if I could, I’d do everything in my power to keep you by my side.”

Her words were both a warmth and a burden. “Ever since I met you, I have thought myself blessed to stand with a heroine such as you, but this blessing — it was not the gods, it was your strength, and for that…For that, let us take faith in each other, and purge the evil from this place.”

Over. Almost over. The end of this nightmare. The warmth and light of his goddess would return to him once more, even though he would betray the ones he had come to hold dear. Just one more monster, and Tristian would be gone forever.

The party cast every protection spell they know before Katala opened the door to Vordakai’s chamber. Vordakai’s magic washed over them the moment they stepped through the door, filling them with an unnatural dread. At the end of the room, Vordakai himself sat on a throne made of bones, holding a large, glowing bottle in his hand. Vordakai was not terribly big for a Cyclopes; the undead guards that they had to fight on the way here were certainly a lot bigger and stronger, but Vordakai had an aura of power about him and carried himself with an arrogant grace. Even for an ancient undead, he showed particular signs of a dread decay, his skin was tight and withered around his skull, and his ancient robes, tattered as they were, hung over him like a shroud. A large red gem sat in his lone eye socket, glowing with a dark power, the Oculus of Abaddon. The raven sat perched on his shoulder.

“She is here, master!” it cawed. “She has come, oh great Vordakai!”

“An interruption.” Vordakai deigned to look a them before continuing. “So who disturbs my meditation?”

“You know damn well why I’m here!” said Katala. “I’m here for Maegar and the people of Varnhold!”

Vordakai regarded the glowing vessel he held in his hands. “I was pondering what to do with this creature. Maegar Varn. This fool dared to claim lands that belong to me.”

“What did you do to him?!” Katala demanded.

Vordakai held out the bottle towards her. “Can you see his soul?” It was only now that Tristian realized that the glow was writhing in its shell. A low, desperate cry emanated from it, almost to muffled to hear. “I kept Maegar’s body because I thought he would prove a servant, but no. Your corpse, kneeling before me, would prove more useful.”

“The only one who will die to day is you,” said Katala.

“Worthless words. Boasts and claims of mortals. Grovel, and you will serve me yet.”

Katala’s rage prevented fear from overtaking her, and she charged at Vordakai with all her might. Regongar, Katala’s dog, and Ekun’s wolf followed after her, but the dread of this creature creeped into them, making their attacks more hesitant and unsure. Vordakai paid them no mind. Instead, he attacked Octavia, Linzi, and Tristian with his foul necromancy. Tristian had to keep up with his healing and restoration spells, channeling his goddess’s divine energy. Octavia fired back at Vordakai with her spells, but the wizard fell easily to his magic, crumbling to the floor in exhaustion.

Eventually, Vordakai used up most of his power. Without letting himself think, Tristian broke rank and steadily walked up to the Cyclopes.

“Enough Vordakai! Come face your death. I will be the one to sentence you.” The words came mindlessly out of his mouth. If the others wondered what he was doing, they were probably too busy doing battle to pay him any mind.

“From the relic of a crumbled empire…a relic I steal…” Vordakai’s eye started to turn to him. Now, even Linzi stopped what she was doing to face him.

“Curse you, Vordakai, blinded by your faded power. I take your sight.” Time seemed to slow down. The battle practically came to a halt to watch Tristian, so powerful was the curse that he was placing on Vordakai.

“Curse you, Vordakai, thriving in your blind arrogance. I take your eye!”

Vordakai screamed as a flash of old magic—not dark like the magic permeating this tomb, but something alive and tinged with pain—tore the Oculus out of Vordakai’s head and thrusted it onto the ground in front of Tristian. Tristian steadily picked up the artifact as if in a trance. He could hear Nyrissa’s laughter in his head as a portal opened behind him.

“Tristian!” Katala called out, almost snapping him out of his reverie. The barbarian disengaged from the fight, leaving her companions to face a weakened and blinded Vordakai, to address Tristian.

“I must take it,” he said. “Forgive me.”

“Tristian!” Gods, it was so hard to look at her, but Tristian forced himself to see. Her rage had given way to pleading. Despite her questioning him earlier, she still looked shocked and hurt. But there was nothing he could do. Nothing! “I don’t believe you’re doing this willingly! Stop it — for me!”

“Even now…even now you don’t turn away from me.” Tears flowed freely down his face. “I am so worthless…for not even trying.” He looked down at the Oculus. He felt his shoulder blades burn and break where his wings once were, and a fear that had nothing to do with Vordakai or this crypt started to eat at his mind. He couldn’t stop.

“But I will end this now.” Tristian didn’t let himself think. He cast the Oculus to his feet.

“The one who can’t see evil will smite an entity that tempts others; the messenger of good, deprived of sunlight, gains the power to dispel the darkness. Dawnflower! Healing Light! Merciful Sarenrae, Your servant and champion calls for You! Grant me the power to remove the last obstacle on the path of salvation! Grant me the courage to spare the world from the abominations that threaten it!” As he raised his hands towards the heavens, a light started to envelop him, his hands burning with a radiant fire. Tristian took momentary joy in the fact that his Lady had heard him and was blessing him with Her light.

“Tristian! What are you doing?” Katala tried to run to him, but Sarenrae’s light flared brightly at the barbarian, blinding her, and sending her stumbling back.

Tristian brought his hands to his face. Immediately, he felt the Everlight’s fire burn through his eyes. For a moment all Tristian could see was white. He let out a blood-curdling scream as the fire cut not only at his eyes, but eradicated any hope of his sight ever being restored to him. What happened could never be reversed. He was forever denied the sacred light.

He brought his foot down on the Oculus, crushing it.

“Now I can’t see evil…” When he removed his hands from his face, all he saw was darkness. The blinding light of his goddess, Katala, Vordakai, it was all gone. “Oh, Sarenrae! The price of faith is high — I shall never see your sacred light again.” Oh, this was truly the worst. His goddess, his being was all light. To have it taken away forever, all Tristian could do was laugh bitterly, maddeningly. “The end! The end of this nightmare! I’ll accept punishment, any punishment, just to have it end! Only one last shackle remains, and this is done!”

He fled through the portal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've always wondered why Vordakai doesn't use the Oculus more often, but then I read in the original Adventure Path that it actually has a recharge time of a few months. Would have been nice to know here.


	11. Chapter 11

After Tristian ran through that portal, everything that came after seemed a blur. Katala had a battle to win. She didn’t think. She poured all her anger and all her heartbreak into her rage. She practically flew to Vordakai, her sword coming down on the lich again and again. He said something near the end, but she didn’t care. She barely heard his self-pity over his defeat by one of the “lesser races”, his bemoaning the loss of his empire, an empire built on the death and suffering of innocents. Katala had no pity for that prideful creature.

Pride…

What Tristian did before he…The words he had said…Words…

 _Curse you, Vordakai_.

Curses…

“Don’t you know that you shouldn’t open up your soul to everyone?” said Katala. “What Tristian did to you was a curse, and it struck at your very essence: arrogance and lust for power.”

A curse…words said at the right time…with the right trigger.

Vordakai said something more, but Katala didn’t care. All she wanted now was to find out what had happened to the people of Varnhold, and she didn’t give a damn about how superior this creature felt he was to them. As soon as she found out where the people were, she brought down her sword on his head. Without the Oculus, his body crumbled to ash.

Katala walked over to the jar where Maegar’s soul was being kept.

“So, this is what? Maegar’s soul?” asked Katala.

“Not quite,” said Octavia. “Each of these jars contain a sapient creature’s whole being. If I’m correct, Maegar may still be alive. You just have to break it.”

“These things are also very valuable,” said Regongar. “The jars, not what’s inside them. Pity you can’t free whoever’s inside without breaking them.”

Katala smashed Maegar’s jar. A mist floated from the broken pieces and coalesced into a very distraught and disoriented Maegar Varn. Katala found the jars containing the other citizens of Varnhold and smashed them too, setting the people free.

Poor Maegar looked to relieved to see most everyone in one piece. Katala vaguely recalled him thanking the party and pledging Varnhold to her. Katala had the presence of mind to give reassurances as they led the people out of the tomb.

On the way back to Tuxony, the party walked and walked and walked until everyone except Katala couldn’t walk any more. Ekun kindly offered to go hunting, but Katala brushed him off and took to the mountains with her dog.

The party needed meat, so Katala hunted mountain goats. They needed kindling for the fire, so Katala gathered dry bark from the trees. She gathered roots and filled the waterskins from the streams. What she didn’t carry on her back, she attached to Hunter’s harness to take back to camp. Laden with their burdents, Katala and Hunter began the fairly long walk back to the camp. They walked and walked and walked…

…and then Katala’s legs gave out from underneath her. She fell to the ground as Hunter whined and sniffed at her worriedly. Katala was exhausted in mind and body, and it was then that she realized that she had spent the entire time since Tristian had left in a rage, and now it was catching up with her.

Tristian…Now that the rage was gone, Katala found that she wasn’t angry, or even mournful or grief-stricken, just…confused. Tristian wanted the Oculus…but why? And he destroyed it…? Not that Katala didn’t want it destroyed, but…why? And that was the question that went through her head. Why? Why? Why?

And what the hell just happened? She just lay there, trying to piece it together, but she only came up with a whole lot of nothing. Him wanting the Oculus explained why Tristian had been accompanying her to the tomb, and why he had been acting so strangely. How long had Tristian been planning this? It couldn’t be from the beginning. It would be one hell of a long game. Especially since it would count on Willas Gunderson just happening to stumble into Vordakai’s tomb and waking him up. If he had this planned more recently though…what would cause him to turn on his friends, turn on Katala? The others were already talking about betrayal, but was that what really happened? For all they knew, he had heard about Varnhold and the Oculus and just wanted to take matters into his own hands. The way he had invoked Sarenrae bordered on fanatic. But he knew that Katala had wanted it destroyed. And, before Katala pleaded with him to stop, he was just going to take it…So many things they didn’t know.

_Why, Tristian?_

 

Tristian fumbled around in the darkness. All around him was a vast, empty, and cold void filled with fey voices that laughed and mocked him. The only thing tangible was the cold, stone floor under his bare feet and the heavy, broken wings that dragged behind him as he kept walking.

“She’s gonna kill him,” one of the voices jeered from behind his right ear.

“She’ll do it,” said another. “She’ll really do it this time!”

“Why should we wait? Let’s do it now!”

Someone tapped his shoulder. Tristian turned around to face them, but even when he reached out, he could find nothing there.

The laughter subsided, as if the others were pondering what they were going to do next.

“His kind are a bit like us,” one said. “If you try to kill ‘em the normal way, they just go back to their god, you see, and come back to bother you some other time.”

“But he’s not an angel anymore, is he?” Then in an excited tone, they said, “He’ll just die, right?”

“Worse. You see, he’s done a lot of bad things since he got here, and I don’t think Pharasma will take too kindly to that.” Tristian could practically feel the malicious smile in that voice. “And where do you think he’ll end up? Probably in some lower plane, where I know a bunch of fiends would love to get their hands on a fallen angel, make his little stay _here_ look like paradise.”

“Ooooooh!” A chorus of laughter reverberated through the emptiness. Tristian tried to run, but someone dug their claws into his wings, these heavy, broken, useless things, and twisted them at the joints. Tristian let out a blood-curdling cry and nearly passed out from the pain that had shot through his whole being. Hands gripped at him, tearing his clothes off, lifting him into the air, tossing and juggling him around. Tristian tried to fight them off, but, none of his flailing found purchase. All he felt was the cold air. Before he knew it, he was bound, naked, and helpless before his tormentors.

“How should we do it?”

“I say we crush him.”

“Drown him.”

“Burn him.”

“Devour him.”

“Please, let me go,” Tristian begged as he struggled pathetically.

“Tch, what’s his problem anyway? It’s his fault after all. He could have said no. If he’d’ve done that, then he would’ve just had a normal afterlife, one with his goddess even. Then all those people wouldn’t’ve had to die.”

“It’s because he’s stupid. He thinks it’s better to get smote into a pile of ash than die like the mortals.”

“Stupid.”

“Stupid.”

“Stupid.”

“I can’t believe he was stupid enough to…”

“Oh, I know!”

Someone buried a knife into Tristian’s neck. Just as quickly as he was struck, the knife was pulled away. Blood gushed out of the open wound, right up into his face, his eyes, and his hair, and it was only now that Tristian realized that they were hold him upside down. Tristian panicked, but that only made his heart beat faster, quickening the flow of blood out of his body.

Tristian called out to Sarenrae to help him, chanting the prayer that he knew would heal him, but nothing happened. He heard his heartbeat stop racing and get slower and slower. He heard laughter all around him, but it grew fainter and more distant as Tristian’s world kept spinning away.

_No no no no no no no…._

When Tristian woke up, he thrashed around, gasping for air. His hand hit a stone wall. He took a moment to gather himself and found that he was lying on a small, musty, old bed. It was still dark. He felt Nyrissa’s magic everywhere. The energies of the First World seeped into every stone.

“Sleep well?” came a male voice. Tristian recognized that it belonged to the Horned Hunter, the one servant that Tristian knew even less of than Nyrissa herself.

“Where am I?” asked Tristian.

“Back in the mistress’s keep,” said the Horned Hunter.

“Nyrissa, is she…?”

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about that right now,” said the Horned Hunter. “Our lady is out doing business with one of her other pets, and the remaining Sisters are with Armag. I thought it best if _you_ be the one to tell her about your spectacular failure.”

Tristian slumped in the bed. Everything was lost. Neither his goddess nor his siblings would come for him. The false comradery he had with the others from Tuxony was gone. And now he could only hope that Nyrissa would not obliterate him when she learned of his treachery. He was completely lost and alone. He wondered if Sarenrae had not abandoned him, that he had not gone beyond even the Everlight’s mercy.

And Katala…Her pleas will haunt Tristian forever. And yet, for all his despair, Tristian didn’t regret destroying the Oculus, the one true act of good he had committed since he had been forced into Nyrissa’s service, untainted by the nymph’s influence. He was happy to commit that to Katala.

“Don’t look so gloomy,” said the Horned Hunter. “There is something you could do to soften the blow. You remember the portal on Candlemere tower, correct? Imagine how delightful another Bloom would be. Just stabilize that portal, like you did twice before, and let the monsters through.”

“Why should I cause more empty deaths?” Tristian asked bitterly. “What is there to gain? Tuxony is much stronger than it was before, and you no longer have the Everblooming Flower. Kat…the baroness would crush this new Bloom immediately.”

The Horned Hunter laughed. “That’s not the point! Right as we speak, Armag is leading a horde of barbarians to attack Restov. Very soon, Jamandi Aldori’s soldiers will meet them in Glenebon. As the Swordlords naturally have no hope of defeating them on their own, Lady Jamandi will, of course, call on her closest allies. That’s where you come in. We’re going to have the baroness make a choice. Either she loses the confidence of her people, or she loses a vital ally. Either way, the barony will be weakened when this is all over.”

“Are there no bounds to your cruelty?” asked Tristian.

“Come now,” said the Horned Hunter. “Don’t act so self-righteous. How many deaths are already on your hands?”

Tristian shrunk back. “I mourn these deaths every day. I will not do what you say.”

“Betrayal has made you bold,” said the Horned Hunter. “Unfortunately, you don’t have a choice. Nyrissa has asked me to pass this command to you as something for you to do before she got back. You wouldn’t disappoint her twice, would you?”

Suddenly, Tristian felt like he was back in that nightmare. The air felt so cold, and he almost felt the blood gushing out of his neck again. He could barely breathe…

The Horned Hunter opened a portal behind him. From beyond, Tristian could sense the mystical energies of Candlemere. Tristian hung his head as he got up and walked through.

 

Nyrissa hated talking to her Peacock, the way he looked at her like she was another luxury or bit of power he could obtain, just like his kingdom and all it brought him.

She remembered when he had been a young man fleeing from his homeland of Numeria. He had come into her woods, seeking treasure. It had been so easy to lure him into her home and dazzle him with the wonders of the First World. He had been completely besotted with her, falling easily to her charms. Nyrissa molded and shaped him to be her tool: both as a grain for her Apology and to get his help in retrieving the Briar.

With her help and encouragement, her Peacock became king of Pitax. After that, he had acquired so much power and pleasure in the Material Realm that it became increasingly difficult to keep him interested in rewards from the First World. Each time she visited him, she had to make the dreams even more grand and elaborate, to tempt him with rich banquets and beautiful fey servants and magical treasures beyond his wildest dreams.

She set the scene in a grand ballroom. She appeared before him in a marvelous dress made of yellow butterflies and a dark wooden crown sparkling with jeweled flowers.

Her Peacock leered at her as he kissed her hand. “As king, I feast and wench to my heart’s content, but your beauty never diminishes, my sweet.”

He wasn’t the first man she had to deal with like this, but it was her least favorite part of her quest for redemption. It was so demeaning, to put up with their advances, to offer herself as a prize.

“Have you found it yet?” Though she knew that soon, her Skylark would bring her the very thing that would let her find it herself. After tonight, the curse would end. Still, if there was even the slightest chance that her Peacock may have found it in that small time frame, that she would have it sooner…

The Peacock ran a finger up her arm, touching her bare shoulder. “Patience, my pet. You will get what you desire…and I’ll get what _I_ desire.” He stroked Nyrissa’s shoulder in a way that made her instinctively shudder and flinch away from him.

His smile stayed, but his eyes narrowed very, very slightly. “That little game of yours won’t keep me forever, my dove. Sooner or later, you’re going to have to give me more than promises.”

Insolent fool. Nyrissa could destroy him in an instant, and he knew it. In fact, once she got the Oculus, she would do just that. She wouldn’t need him. She wouldn’t need anyone.

 

Katala had hardly gotten back to Tuskdale when she heard the news.

“A barbarian horde?” she asked.

“Yes, Your Grace,” said Kassil. “The Aldori engaged the Tiger Lords in the Glenebon plains. They need your immediate assistance.”

Amiri, who had been called in in her capacity as General widened her eyes. “The Tiger Lords?!” she asked. “So, they’ve decided to come to fight. I’ve heard my…former tribe is with them now, hiding from the evil spirit that haunts them. I bet the Tiger Lords brought the cowardly worms with them!”

“Where the hell is Hannis Drelev?” asked Katala. “Isn’t he still baron?”

“We’re not sure, Your Grace,” said Kassil. “He and his entourage went missing while they were traveling his lands. We think he was captured by the barbarians.”

“I see,” said Katala.

“There’s more,” said Kassil. “Recently, monsters started plaguing the barony again, as if there were a second Bloom. Fortunately, there haven’t been any cases of the strange disease yet. Most of them have appeared around Candlemere Lake, and there have been reports of lights flashing from the tower.”

The envoy cleared his throat. “We must send aid to Restov at once! They will only be able to hold against the horde for so long.”

“But my people…” said Katala.

“Chief,” said Amiri. “We need to go to the Tiger Lords, and we need to hurry. I’m going ahead with or without you.”

Katala rubbed her temples with her palms and sighed. “Tell Linzi to get the group together. I’ve made my decision.”

 

Tristian held the portal open as more and more beasts from the First World flocked through. Each flash, set another group of monsters loose on the coast. Tristian could not see, and it was absurd to think that he could hear them from this distance, but he could imagine angry and panicked beasts pouring into those villages, the poor people, already traumatized from the last Bloom, running and screaming for their lives.

He was the lowest of the low: a coward, a weakling, a traitor, a murderer.

But still, she came.

It was preposterous to think that she came for him. He expected Katala to save her people. There was no way that she wouldn’t, even with a war at her border. He heard the sounds of battle coming from the shores of the island. She would come. She would stop him. But could she stop what would come next? He had had hope before Vordakai, but now he didn’t know.

They came closer, Katala and the others. Tristian knew he should have fled the moment she stepped foot on the island, but he was rooted in place. Some part of him wanted her to find him, to talk to her again, or perhaps to give her a chance to kill him…no, that wasn’t right. He couldn’t die now, not when there was still a chance that Nyrissa would give him back his wings.

He knew right away that it was her when she stepped through the underbrush and to the base of the tower.

“Why did you come here, Katala?” he asked.

She hesitated. Tristian could hear her sigh of exasperation. “Like I was going to sit there and let my people get slaughtered by magical animals again.”

So, anger then. But she was right.

“Who do I see in front of me?” asked Ekun. “A friend who has made a mistake, or an enemy slipping on the mask of a friend?”

“Please Tristian,” said Octavia. “Tell us the truth. I don’t want to believe that you deceived us from the very beginning, just waiting for a moment to strike us in the back!”

“Tristian,” said Katala. “In Vordakai’s tomb…what the hell happened with the Oculus, and that strange light, and your eyes?!”

“An apostate and a weakling,” Tristian whispered. “I am nothing. No, less than nothing.”

Another sigh. “I…I’m glad to see that you’re alive,” she admitted. “I was...worried for you.”

Another arrow through his heart, though this one also felt warm, the small bit of comfort in this whole mess. Even if he would never see her face again.

“I…I’m so happy to hear your voice again…even if it’s for the last time,” said Tristian. “Forgive me, Katala. The force that has enslaved me will do the same to you. I’ve already put you in terrible danger, and I won’t let you suffer any longer. Save yourself and those you hold dear. Forget me, forget the Stolen Lands. Farewell.”

“Wait a minute.” The barbarian grabbed him as he was about to run back through the portal and held him in a grapple. “Where do you think you’re going? You just unleashed a bunch of monsters on my people.”

Another wave of monsters surged through the portal, clawing and biting at everything in the vicinity. Tristian took the opportunity to call upon Sarenrae for strength and break out of Katala’s hold.

“Tristian!” Katala called out.

 

Tristian ran through the portal to the Temple of the Elk, though he heard someone strong and fast follow him through. Katala had managed to evade or power through the monsters on Candlemere. She and her dog were on him in a heartbeat. Hunter tackled him from behind, knocking him to the ground. Katala was soon on him as well. She knocked the symbol of Sarenrae out of his hand and joined her dog in keeping Tristian grappled.

“Tristian,” she pleaded. “Please come back. Whatever this is, we can make things right. Just don’t go.”

“Nothing,” he whispered. “Worse than nothing.”

“Tristian…”

The portal to the Abandoned Keep opened. Another wave of monsters poured out into the temple’s courtyard. However, instead of attacking Tristian or Katala, the beasts went after a larger and more vulnerable group of targets: the pilgrims of Erastil. The poor folk were only armed with hunting bows, and maybe a spear or two. The priests and hunters tried to fend the monsters off as the group tried to run away.

“Fuck!” Katala yelled as she saw the monsters attacking those people. “Tristian, help me deal with these monsters!”

“I can’t…” he whispered desperately.

“Tristian, please, these people need your help!” she said. “You promised me you wouldn’t stand idle while evil was happening.”

She was right. She was completely right. Inside, he screamed at the suffering that he was allowing to happen, the suffering that he had caused. But at the same time, he yearned for the touch and voice of his goddess. He knew it was selfish and cowardly, but he was completely paralyzed. All he could do was lie there, whimpering.

She only took an instant, for an instant was all she had. “Well, fuck you then!” She entered a rage as she got off of him and whistled for her dog to follow her into battle.

Tristian stood up. He grabbed his holy symbol and ran for the portal. He chanted a blessing to help Katala in battle before disappearing into the portal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took inspiration from the Adventure Path the game was based on for the relationship between Nyrissa and Irovetti. I’ve also been using inspiration from the AP to fill in some other gaps.


	12. Chapter 12

Katala stayed behind to make sure that the pilgrims were all right. Some were gravely injured. One was almost dead, but the Erastilan clerics were able to stabilize him, and the purified water in the center of the courtyard took care of the other wounds. The portal that Tristian had fled through stayed open, maintained by one of the clerics. Hopefully he could keep it up until Katala could get some of her people here.

Katala was even able to pay some of the pilgrims to send a message back to the capital when they returned to Tradeguard. Katala stayed behind to watch the portal. On the other side, she could see more of those strange First-World flowers and purple moss. She had absolutely no idea where this would take her. A part of her chomped at the bit to go in after Tristian, though even she knew it was a bad idea.

She passed the time skinning the manticores that had attacked the pilgrims. She still couldn’t piece together why Tristian was doing all of this. Would Sarenrae really give powers to someone who let loose a bunch of monsters on innocent people? Then again, was it really Sarenrae who gave Tristian his power, or had he lied about that too? What was his connection to the fae and the First World?

Here was the kicker. Katala never truly believed _everything_ Tristian had told her. Jubilost had been right. There had always been something off with his stories, especially towards the end. Looking back, it had been obvious that something was wrong. But Katala always let it go, thinking that he probably did something very bad in the past and that he probably converted to Sarenrae to make up for what he had done. Whatever it was, Katala was so sure she could forgive him.

She never expected anything like this. Just how much of what Tristian had told her had been the truth.

Her skinning knife ripped through the manticore. Looking down at her work, it looked as if the manticore had been ripped apart by a giant beast, eaten, then spat back out. She sighed and tried working on the other one. She hated waiting.

Fortunately, she only had a less of a day’s wait before her companions approached the Temple of the Elk.

“Thank goodness you’re all right,” said Linzi as she ran up to Katala. The barbarian lifted the halfling bard and squeezed the daylights out of her.

“That was quick,” said Katala, letting Linzi catch her breath.

“We saw the Temple of the Elk just before the portal closed, so we came as quickly as we could!” said the bard. “What happened to Tristian?”

“He went through another portal,” said Katala.

“What do you want to do?” asked Linzi. “There’s still time to make it to the border.”

Katala looked towards the portal. It still glowed purple with the light of the flowers on the other side.

“We go after him.”

 

Nyrissa took a portal back to the Abandoned Keep with one of her Sisters. She was practically shaking with anticipation. The Oculus, the Briar, would be hers. As she marched through the halls, she felt the failed Sister, one who was already here, cowering in the shadows. The poor fool had thought that she could escape the curse any more than Nyrissa could.

For that little cretin, Nyrissa left one last mission. Should the errant Sister run into the Hound for some reason, she was to use the little trinket Nyrissa had given her to trap the Hound in a magical prison forever. Failure would result in the Sister’s death. It was more of a punishment than a mission, almost an afterthought. Nyriss didn’t really think that the Sister had a chance. Her Hound would slice the Sister in half, but there was a chance that her naïve pet would stop and _talk_ to her attacker, giving the Sister a chance to strike. Either way, it was a victory.

The Skylark was nowhere to be found. Nyrissa seethed in anger and demanded an explanation from the Horned Hunter.

“A thousand apologies, Mistress,” said the large, masked satyr. “He went out on a little errand and hasn’t come back yet.”

“Errand? What errand?” Nyrissa’s anticipation quickly boiled into a burning rage. “I didn’t send him on any errand! What is the meaning of this?”

“I…” The Horned Hunter quickly bowed, hiding his face. “I don’t know, Mistress. For some reason, he thought you would be pleased if another Bloom appeared in the barony.”

“What? Why would he…curse it all! Did he at least get the Oculus?”

Still keeping his head bowed, the Horned Hunter said, “He did, Mistress. He’ll tell you all about it when he gets back.”

“Curses,” Nyrissa spat. Her Skylark would pay for making her wait, now, at this crucial moment when she would finally be free! Oh, she would set him free, free into this uncaring world with no one to turn to, not Sarenrae, not the baroness, and certainly not Nyrissa herself. Perhaps she would take pity on him once she got her heart back, but right now she just wanted to strangle him.

“Ah, speaking of…” said the Horned Hunter. The Skylark entered the room slowly. His skin was deathly pale, and his hands were shaking. What was most curious was that his eyes were covered in a bandage.

“The Oculus!” Nyrissa demanded. “Where is it?”

 

Where they had ended up seemed a mixture of one of the exotic gardens at the capital (though more dangerous) and the ruins of an old magical prison. The air smelled stale and sickly-sweet, like herbs on a puss-infected wound. The party had to fight their way through redcaps, dweomercats, and other minions of the fey. Harrim and Ekun were on the lookout for traps. Katala let the others explore the library, but all Katala cared about was finding Tristian. She would worry about what she would do with him from there.

 

Falling, falling. It was as if the ground gone out from under Tristian’s feet. Everything felt so cold. He fell helplessly to his knees as Nyrissa berated him for his failure. Even the nymph’s other attendants were afraid. The Horned Hunter and the Sister that had accompanied her stepped back, and the recaps cowered in the shadows behind the columns.

“How dare you?!” she demanded.

“My lady…” said Tristian.

“Silence!” she yelled, and Tristian almost felt as if the air was sucked out of his throat. “Nothing you could ever say can make up for this! Nothing!”

Tristian couldn’t speak. He didn’t dare to. All he could do was mindlessly whisper prayers to the Everlight.

He only fell further.

 

“A…deva?” Katala asked.

“Yes,” said the Sister, the same Sister that Katala had met in Dunsward, the only one who had survived. “His task was to aid in your ascension—and your fall.”

“Well…shit,” said Katala. That just raised even more questions. It definitely explained why he took the Oculus and why he unleashed those beasts on the kingdom and why he ran from her.

She didn’t expect a fucking angel.

“I beg you to forgive his betrayal,” said the Sister. “There is no hope for me, but he…everything is not lost for him…not yet.”

“Tristian has a good heart,” said Octavia. “I don’t believe for a moment hat he seriously wanted to harm us!”

“If Tristian was an honest spy, serving for money or ideals, I could forgive him,” said Regongar, snarling with disgust. “He fooled us honestly, did his job—he’s a good spy! But the righteous asshole tried to play himself off as being good and pure, then just turned on us when some witch told him to—then he even ‘rebels’ against her! Ugh!”

“What do you mean ‘everything’s not lost for him’?” asked Katala.

“Make no mistake,” said the Sister. “He could break free of his bonds, but…but the curse our mistress is under spins its web over all who follow her.” She faintly touched the cloth covering her face. “And the longer the service, the greater the curse. When I left my Sisters behind in Dunsward, I was certain that would be the death of me, but…” The cloth mask ruffled at the brow, as if the Sister were frowning.

“It seems the curse was weaker than you thought,” said Katala.

“Perhaps…” said the Sister.

“It’s something we’ll have to look into when we get back to the capital,” said Octavia.

“Who did this to you?” asked Katala. “Who is this other ‘Sister’? Another one of you?”

“Once she was our sister…the most powerful, the most beautiful of the nymphs of the First World,” said the Sister. “Then she was cursed and banished—I know not why. We followed her into exile, hoping to give her comfort…but she changed. As cheerful, wise, and gentle she had been back home, she became arrogant, wicked, and cruel in these mortal lands. You can see for yourself what she’s done to us—but it is not the worst thing she has done, mark my words.”

“The nymph I saw in a vision near the Everblooming Flower,” said Katala. “The one who tried to kill me after I killed the Stag Lord. Is it her? What is her curse?”

“I know not what you are referring to,” said the Sister. “She very rarely shares with us any of her plans, only what we need to do. All I know is that she eagerly shares her curse with others. A canopy of curses looms over the Stolen Lands, a web so dense that sometimes a single careless word, spoken in anger is enough to tap into its energies.”

Katala asked for more information from the Sister. The Sister only gave as much as she dared, considering that one wrong word would invoke the spell her sister had cast on her and kill her. Though the Sister never called the one she served by name, Katala felt it confirmed that it was the same nymph she had met before, the one with the piercing blue eyes and an elegant, deadly grace. It also confirmed what Katala had seen in the First World: that the nymph needed to ruin every ‘kingdom’ that cropped up in the Stolen Lands as part of a curse she was under. Sadly, the Sister couldn’t tell her the exact nature of the curse.

“So, I was just one of her toys from the very beginning?” Katala still remembered the nymph who had approached her at Oleg’s Trading Post. The nymph had suggested before that the ruse she had used to gain Katala’s trust had once been her true nature. If what the Sister said was true, then it could very well have been. It still hurt that someone Katala had once called a friend would want to destroy everything she cared about.

And now Tristian was involved. Katala wanted so badly to find them and somehow find a way to get through to them both, though she had no idea if it was even possible.

“Yes,” said the Sister. “You’ve defeated the Stag Lord, Tartuk and Hargulka, dealt with Vordakai. Now the time has come for her to destroy you as well.”

Katala sighed. “Thank you for answering my questions.”

“Wait!” said the Sister. “Before you go. My sister’s curse will not spare me, but I beg you, make my death the last independent action I have.”

“What are you talking about?” asked Katala.

The Sister shook her head sadly. “My sister wanted us to meet. She tasked me to use this on you.” The Sister held up a fingernail, which Katala noticed a tiny green stone painfully embedded in the center. “This stone contains a spell of Imprisonment. With a touch and a secret word, you will disappear under the ground, banished outside of time, trapped between life and death. The curse will not let me use this on her, but I’d rather die than do what she says.”

“Wait,” said Katala. “I have a better idea. Use the stone on yourself. I know it’s not much of a hope, but it’s still a hope that one day her curse will be lifted, and you will be free.”

“But…By the Green Mother, you’re right! She won’t find me underground. Thousands of years shall pass before her curse is dissolved. It may never happen. But still…It’s a hope. Thank you…and farewell.”

“I promise you I will do everything in my power to set you and your sister free again,” said Katala.

With that, the Sister held her hand to her chest and whispered the secret word. She disappeared under the ground without a trace.

 

“Pathetic creature!” Nyrissa yelled. “Is there any reason I should not torture you for your apostasy?”

The Skylark just knelt there, babbling under his breath, completely oblivious.

Nyrissa oh-so-gently cupped his chin, forcing him to face her. “What happened to you, my Skylark? Your heart couldn’t bear my anger? So be it. I was bored with your songs anyway. Perhaps the snapping of your bones shall entertain me.”

Nyrissa raised her hand, calling upon the magics of the First World to give her the strength she needed to rip this creature limb from limb when suddenly the door burst open. And who should storm in but her faithful Hound, dusty from traversing the ruins, sword and shield in hand, ready for battle. Nyrissa knew that her Hound used a barbarian’s fury in battle, but this might be the first time she had ever seen it up close, the way the other woman’s hand clenched around the grip of her sword, the way her dog snarled as it sensed its mistress’s fury, the fire in her brown eyes. It awakened a fire within Nyrissa like very few did anymore.

Nyrissa smiled. “We have guests. A Hound following my Skylark’s trail. You have done well. You’ve uncovered my old sanctuary, but it is one I shall never return to again. So now that you are here, what do you intend to do?”

“Watch your tongue, nymph! I’m not your hound!” the Hound snarled.

Nyrissa laughed mirthlessly. “You dare challenge your mistress? The one who has shown the way to hundreds of creatures such as you…filthy beasts who don’t even know the face of their queen. You are my Hound, and Tristian is my silver-tongued Skylark.” Nyrissa stroked her Skylark’s golden hair. “Both of you serve my will, so how should I call you if not by your true names?”

The Hound’s eyes flickered briefly towards Nyrissa’s hand. “Don’t you _dare_ touch him!”

“Now we both know the Skylark belongs to me.” The way Nyrissa’s Hound only got angrier as Nyrissa kept stroking his hair was delicious. “Just as a butterfly belongs to the day it was born and the day it is destined to die.

“And Sarenrae’s messenger was a great servant, wasn’t he? Deformed by reflection in a thousand mirrors, fallen into shadows born of his own light, a righteous deva with blood-stained hands. After I caught him in my nets, I couldn’t resist the urge to take his wings so that he might sing and sing for me alone. As he followed you, he spoke with me in his dreams, his true mistress. Now he’s failed, I could let him go…but I don’t like to share my toys, even if they are broken.”

Nyrissa’s hold on his hair tightened before she tossed him aside, almost causing him to lose balance.

“Tell me, who are you?” Though the fire never left the Hound’s eyes, her voice was dangerously steady.

Nyrissa looked into the other woman’s eyes. Piercing blue met smoldering brown as they both tried to look into one another’s soul. In her Hound, Nyrissa saw a reflection. The Hound’s passion was frightening, but also intoxicatingly exhilarating.

“Very well, my Hound. I will share with you a piece of my darkness and my pain. I will share with you my name.

“I am Nyrissa.”

The name echoed across the room like a wave. Nyrissa knew it had an effect on her Hound, but instead of backing away, her pet only doubled down on her fury, holding her sword higher, shuffling a little closer.

She was unafraid.

“At least you’re still talking,” said the Hound. “Why haven’t you killed me yet.”

Nyrissa tilted her head. “In you I see my reflection. But no, that’s utter nonsense! How can one such as I even for a single moment feel kinship with a creature born to become dust in my Apology cup? You are but a toy, a mere Hound. A useful tool, no more! Your world is but a shadow of my home world, I am the first and forever queen of these lands!”

“Is this who you really are?” Nyrissa’s pet lowered her weapon ever-so-slightly, her voice softening. “I’ve seen another version of you. Proud, unbroken. Never so cruel.”

“You’ve seen nothing, and you know nothing!” It was all Nyrissa could do to prevent herself from marching over there and reducing this creature to dust. “My past is a fire that blinds those who stare. I’ve left it behind and accepted the fate that was designed for me. I...

“Farewell, my Hound. Someone will take care of you.”

Nyrissa opened a portal to her true domain. She and the Horned Hunter walked through it before closing it behind them, leaving one of the Sisters behind.

 

Tristian knew that Katala was here. He heard her voice even as he fell in the dark, but he would do nothing while Nyrissa commanded him to be silent.

Falling.

“Tristian, can you hear me? Wake up!” Katala yelled.

“Save your breath,” said the Sister. Every world was spoken with hopeless venom. “This Skylark has broken his wings, and now he’s useless. I’ll rid myself of him after I’ve finished with you.”

“Enough of this!” yelled Katala. “Where the hell did Nyrissa go?!”

“She left,” said the Sister. “Where and why is none of your concern. I remain only to remove any trace of her and her servants from this place.”

“Cut the crap and give me Tristian back before I get angry!”

“Insolent fool! These lands were ours long before you appeared. You are nothing but a fly in the web.” Tristian could hear the wry smile in the Sister’s words. “My sister is the mistress of half-truths. All it took to control Tristian was deceiving him into thinking that it was Nyrissa who deprived him of his holy gift, who cursed him with a mortal body.”

Suddenly, Tristian could breathe again, as if a foot that had been placed on his neck was knocked right off. Whatever hold Nyrissa had on him vanished as he realized that there was absolutely no hope of getting his wings back from her. Everything that Tristian had done for her had been for nothing. All the suffering at his hands had been completely empty.

“Lies…” he said. “It was all lies…”

“And what it took to control you, upstart baroness…was it the promise of your own lands, a better future for the people? Or was it the cry for help. One little cry from my sister had you running around the Shrike Hills like a desperate puppy.”

“Ugh! Get out of my way or fight me!”

A battle ensued. No longer tied down to Nyrissa, Tristian chanted a blessing to help the party as the two stone statues behind him came to life. Instead of engaging the Sister, Katala leapt to Tristian’s side. She parried a blow with her sword, striking at the statue with all her might. Her rage was so palpable that Tristian could feel the heat coming off her body. As Katala and her dog took care of the golems, Tristian focused on helping the others counteract the baleful gaze the Sister inflicted on his former party members.

At last, the Sister fell, and the redcaps and both golems had been dealt with. The whole party looked at Tristian, no doubt wanting answers. He would tell them all he knew. They deserved that at least.

“Tristian, what the fuck happened?” asked Katala.

Tristian winced. “I’m tired of lies and deception. Our meeting wasn’t a coincidence. It was Nyrissa who sent me to the Temple of the Elk. She conjured that fog and sent Jhod a vision of the place. Since then I’ve been watching you, waiting for a time to act. For Nyrissa.”

“So, you were with her from the very beginning?” said Katala.

“Yes,” said Tristian. “But that’s…that’s not all. I helped her create and plant the Everblooming Flower that almost destroyed your barony. As you can see…as you can see, everything that happened in Vordakai’s tomb was but one of my many crimes. That is all. Deal with me however you think best.”

“Tristian…” said Katala. “Who are you?”

“I am a deva, once a sacred servant and messenger of Sarenrae herself. Once it was my calling to heed mortals’ prayers and deliver them to other servants of the goddess. That was before I fell into the trap set by Nyrissa.”

Talking was painful, but Katala deserved the truth. After all he had done, Tristian would not give her any less. “She took from me my powers and severed my bond with my goddess. At least, that was what I had thought.

“Nyrissa threatened that if I didn’t server her, she’d never return my wings, and I’d never speak to Sarenrae again. She made me…she…” No, not even the nightmares could excuse what he had done. “I’m lying to you again. If it weren’t for my cowardice, Nyrissa would never have broken me to her will. But I…I was afraid to remain mortal.”

“Poor you,” said Octavia. “It must have been so hard! It’s worse than slavery…”

“A slave, if he has some bravery, will make every effort to escape,” said Regongar. “This one? A witch wagged a finger at him, and he went and did what she said. And betrayed his friends too…Ugh!”

“Nyrissa…who is she?” asked Katala.

“A nymph,” said Tristian. “One of the most beautiful of all creatures…and the most wicked of all monsters. But who she is and what she wants, I do not know.

“I ran across her while traveling the negative energy plane. While there, I encountered a strange wound—like something had pierced time and space. In my pride, confident in my powers, I followed its path to this world. She dealt with me in a heartbeat.

“Before I could flee, she had entrapped me, filling my mind with horrible nightmares, and when I awoke, I was mortal. I…I had no choice, no choice at all.”

“On my way here, I met another Sister,” said Katala. “She said that you were…cursed?”

“I don’t know,” said Tristian. “All I know, is that when I tried to disobey, it was like I was experiencing one of her nightmares again. I’d become so aware of how cut off I was from my goddess that nothing else mattered. As long as I was afraid to lose my divinity, she would always have that power hanging over me, but now that I know she never took my wings to begin with, I don’t feel it anymore. It doesn’t excuse the many deaths my actions have caused. I should have stopped this sooner, but I was too afraid…”

Katala asked more questions about the Oculus and the Kingdom of the Cleansed. All Tristian could tell her was that Nyrissa had wanted it very badly, but he didn’t know why. As for the Kingdom…Tristian freely told Katala that it was another trap meant to sow discord among the people and try to get her killed again. Only, Nyrissa had merely commanded Tristian to lead Katala to the trap. The nymph hadn’t forbidden him from protecting her.

Finally, slowly, and with great difficulty, Katala asked her last question. “The Everblooming Flower. What role did you have in that?”

Here it was. A betrayal against herself, even against the party, Katala could easily forgive. But killing all those people…it was something she would never forget.

“The Everblooming Flower was Nyrissa’s creation, a strange plant that would bring death to the mortals and opened the gates to the First World. I…I used my knowledge of the planes to root the Flower in both worlds simultaneously.”

“Oh, gods,” said Katala as she clamped her hands over her mouth.

“What Nyrissa did was deplorable, but I am not blameless. Sarenrae as my witness, I didn’t want it to happen as it did, but in my fear of losing Her divine light, my resolve crumbled…so I did was I was ordered to do.”

For the longest time, Katala said nothing. Tristian’s heart raced. If she wanted to kill him, he would not blame her. He would let her do whatever she wished with him.

Katala sighed, her hands still over her mouth. “I’ve made up my mind about what to do with you…”

Tristian gasped in fear. He had no idea what she would do next. Though he knew her to be a kind soul, but what he had done had been beyond the pale. He didn’t want to die, but he would accept any judgement from her.

He owed her that.

His heart only pounded faster as she approached him. Her footsteps echoed loudly on the stone floor.

Katala wrapped her arms around him and held him close. It was one of her special hugs that made Tristian feel safe, as if she were sheltering him with her body. “Let me take you home.”

So much was going through his head that Tristian just…let it happen. He only faintly returned her embrace, feeling her warmth against him. “I will never be able to fully thank you, Katala.”

She was dirty and sweaty from the fight, but she was also warm and strong and steady. Tristian just wanted to fall into her embrace and never let go, but there was just too much to think about. He was still reeling from what had just happened…and what he had just discovered.

He reluctantly pushed away from her, sighing. “Please, allow me some time for thought. I will get back to the capital on my own. I need… to think about many things.”

“Will you be able to get back to Tuskdale by yourself?” Katala asked.

“Yes,” said Tristian. “I may be blind, but I still have some power from my goddess that will help me find my way back. I still know the exact position of the sun, and if I get stuck, I’ll summon an extraplanar being to help me.”

Ekun borrowed a pen and some paper from Linzi to write up an official order to let Tristian pass in case the guards tried to arrest him.

Katala squeezed his shoulder. “Stay safe.”

“Farewell,” said Tristian.


	13. Chapter 13

Katala also needed time to think. That she still loved Tristian was no question, but whether or not she forgave him was something else. She definitely felt pity for him, and she knew that he had gone through much, but to deliberately sacrifice so many innocent lives for immortality…that was stuff that liches and other powerful madmen did, not the kind of person she thought Tristian was.

And who was to say he wouldn’t do it again if it meant he could get his…divine essence or whatever back? The only reason Tristian had come back was that he had found out that Nyrissa had lied to him about taking his wings away. If that had not been the case, if the Sister had not opened her mouth and blurted that out, what would Tristian have done? Would he have done everything he could to get back into Nyrissa’s good graces again, even if it meant that more people would suffer and die? The more she thought about it, the more she felt really fucking pissed, curse or no curse.

She made him Councilor again. There was no one else in the barony who could do it. She wondered how the people would feel about him now. When the Bloom had been defeated, Tristian had been the one to comfort her subjects and guide them in rebuilding. She recalled the service he held in the capital to remember the fallen. Her subjects had lit so many candles to grief for those they had lost. Hells, it had been that way all the other times a disaster had struck the barony: Katala would destroy the enemy, and Tristian would heal the wounds. That Tristian had been working for someone who was trying to destroy them…

Katala wanted so badly to find something, anything to make what he had done all right. He had been kidnapped, frightened, tortured, cut off from what he loved most, and may or may not have been under a curse (Harrim was looking into that), but there was just no excuse.

The party didn’t stay too long in the capital after coming back from the Abandoned Keep. Almost immediately after they arrived, Katala started preparations for her army to march to Glenebon.

Before they marched into the actual battlefield, Amiri had gone ahead. At Katala’s urging, she and a group of rogue Tiger Lord barbarians rushed the main camp. Amiri challenged Armag, but the warchief was able to slip her grasp and retreat into parts unknown.

Katala was too late to save the Swordlords. By the time her soldiers cut through the barbarians left on the field, the only person left was Jamandi Aldori. The body of her son, Kassil, lay a few feet away from her, the half-orc having died protecting his mother.

Jamandi looked over the bodies of her fallen, her eyes wide. “Everyone dead.” She turned to Katala, her normally calm face twisting with rage. “Where have you been?!”

“I was saving my people…” said Katala.

“No,” said Jamandi. “I don’t want to hear your excuses.”

As Jamandi berated her, Katala caught sight of Tristian from the corner of her eye. The priest—no, deva—clutched his holy symbol tightly to his chest.

“Oh, what a tragedy,” he whispered. “All the children who will never see their parents again.” Katala wanted to hold him and tell him, “Don’t blame yourself. It was my choice to go after you.” But another nagging thought at the back of her mind yelled, “If you hadn’t unleashed those monsters on my people, I wouldn’t be in this position!”

After her “talk” with Jamandi, Katala focused on defeating the main Tiger Lord force. With Armag gone, her army had little trouble routing them back. In Amiri’s absence, Regongar led the army alongside Katala. The Tiger Lords fought ferociously to the last man, losing themselves in battle, uncaringly throwing their lives away to bring the other soldiers down. Amiri had trained Katala’s men to be strong and brave, and a good chunk of them were barbarians themselves.

While the Tiger Lords prayed to Gorim for strength, Tuxony’s own priests and druids fought to turn the tides against their foe. Katala was right there in the thick of things, cutting down Tiger Lord barbarians left and right, moving as one with her dog. Giants joined the fray, killing many of her men. Katala took them on herself, using speed and power to bring them down.

When the dust settled, Katala was exhausted, and not just from post-rage fatigue. There were _so many_ dead. Blood soaked into the grass around her, mixing with the dirt to create a vile, thick mud, flies started to gather around some of the dead, and she was surrounded by bodies. It shocked her to think that just a while ago, these people had once been alive. Now, they piled up in complete disarray on the battlefield, their expressions frozen in rage. Though Katala was no stranger to combat and death, she had never led an army into battle before. She never thought it would feel like _this_.

A little ways away, Tristian was healing the wounded. Though the cleric looked somber and sad, his hands and voice never wavered as he delivered the healing touch. His gait was steady as he moved from person to person. It occurred to Katala that Tristian was really, _really_ old. He had probably seen many atrocities in his long lifetime.

As soon as he was done with the soldiers, he approached her. “How are you holding up?” he asked.

“I hope I never get used to this,” she said.

He turned to her. His eyes hadn’t fully recovered yet, so he still needed to wear a bandage around his eyes, but for some reason, Katala imagined that he was trying to fix his gaze to her. “Even if I never lose my nerve, moments like these remind me that I still have to do my best to make the world better, safer.”

“But you haven’t really done that lately, have you?” She almost regretted asking, but it just came out.

Tristian recoiled as if he had been struck.

A messenger approached her. Natala Surtova had come to the battlefield and required the baroness.

When Katala approached the Tiger Lords’ camp, she found Natala there looking immaculate and extremely pleased with herself. Jamandi stood next to her and looked at the Surtova with a near murderous glare.

Natala’s smile widened when she saw Katala. “Ah, our savior has arrived, and just in time. Brevoy owes you a great debt.”

“Yes,” said Jamandi. “Her timing was…impeccable.”

“Don’t blame me for this!” said Katala. “I came as quickly as I could.”

“What kept you then?”

“Now, now,” said Natala. “This woman has proven that she has capability not just that of a mere baroness, but that of a true queen.”

 _Wait, what now?_ Katala had to consciously put in effort not to stand there and gape.

Jamandi’s eyes widened just so slightly. “Are you saying you are ready to recognize her as your equal?”

“As _your_ equal, perhaps,” said the Surtova. She turned to Katala and delicately, but confidently, held out her hand, palm and fingers downward, as if expecting the baroness to kiss it. “What say you? Are you ready to embrace your potential and become a true ruler of these lands?”

 _Seriously, what the Hells is going on here?_ Katala knew she wasn’t the most eloquent or proper person in the world, but she knew danger when she saw it.

She looked Surtova square in the eyes. “You insult me if you think I will take a crown from your hands. Tuxony will be its own nation.”

Surtova’s eyes narrowed, and she withdrew her hand. But her smile never wavered. “Now those are the words of a true leader, and not some bandit chief. I wish you the best in your endeavors, _Your Grace_.”

Katala looked back at Jamandi. She felt sorry that things ended the way they did. If Katala were being honest with herself, she actually sympathized with Jamandi’s desire to be free. Had things gone differently…

Katala shook her head. She had come to the Stolen Lands to save people, not take part in other people’s games.

 

Katala didn’t want to stay in the capital for long after coming home from the battle. They had to find Armag, and quickly. Her advisors sent scholars and archeologists to pour through the Abandoned Temple for clues on where he would go next.

Katala didn’t see much of Tristian during that time. The few times she did, Tristian would wear the same sad smile. They would exchange a word or two, and Katala would walk away unsatisfied. She wanted so badly to make things right, but she could not ignore the death and suffering he had caused.

One morning, Katala sought him out at the temple of Sarenrae. The faith of the Everlight had not grown much in comparison to those of Cayden Cailean or Abbadon, and it didn’t have an established base like Erastil and Lamashtu did. The temple was smaller than most, and was located in an out of the way place in the city, closer to the poor who would need their help the most. The building was of Kelesh design, with a rounded, domed roof and pointed archways. The vestibule was relatively big and open to the sky.

Katala found Tristian praying in one of the small rooms off the side of the main chapel. He was on his knees, his face turned towards the light of the rising sun coming in from the open window. His face was pale, and his hands were shaking.

She waited for him to finish. “Tristian, we need to talk.”

Tristian slowly stood up. “How can I help?”

“Back at the keep, you came back when you found out that Nyrissa had lied to you about your mortal body.” She sighed. “What would have happened if it hadn’t been a lie? Would you still work for Nyrissa?”

Tristian froze. “I…I don’t know. I…you’re right. You’re absolutely right. I should have stopped this sooner. I wish I could be the kind of person who could put the lives of others over my immortality. I’ve prayed to Sarenrae, but the truth is I’m weak. I…”

Katala walked over and hugged him. There was another aspect that she hadn’t considered. He may or may not have been cursed , but the fact that Nyrissa had also threatened his life was no small matter. If one of her subjects had been kidnapped and forced to betray their community on pain of death, Katala would have found it in her heart to forgive that person. Could she not do the same here?

“I always admired you,” said Tristian. “How you’ve always tried to do the right thing, even if it hurts you. I wished I had your strength.”

“What if I told you you could have my strength?” said Katala. “That if you need help doing the right thing, I’ll be here for you like you were for me.”

“Nyrissa kept me prisoner for most of the time I’ve been on Golarion. But I should have gone to you the moment she sent me to spy on you.”

Katala held up a hand, silencing him. "I’ve been racking my brains trying to figure out how to figure out how to move forward, and I think we can only help what we do next. If you’re going to stay here you _can’t_ put my subjects in danger again. But you don’t have to do it alone. If something like this comes up again, please let me help you, okay?”

“…I promise I will never betray you again. I will never put so many lives on the line for my sake.”

"Even if it meant never getting your wings back?" Katala asked.

"I...," said Tristian. "I swear going forward, I will put the lives of your subjects above my own. Even if it means my damnation."

Katala squeezed his shoulder. “Go get ready to march. We found _some_ clues in that old library, but it looks like we’re still going to have to do some searching ourselves.”

 

Katala and the party set out in search of Armag’s Tomb. With a combination of the clues they had found in the Abandoned Keep, Ekun’s keen eyesight, and a vision Katala got from a very questionable baptism delivered by a strange priest on the river, they found the ancient tomb at the center of the Glenebon plains. Unlike Vordakai’s crypt, which had been carefully and elaborately built of dark granite and inscribed with horrific reliefs and arcane Cyclopes hieroglyphics, Armag’s Tomb had been erected from large, jagged, messy slabs of grey rock, though it was no less imposing. Splotches of dried blood and ash colored the grey stone. Broken totems made of bone hung from the entrance, rattling in the wind.

Some of Armag’s men camped outside the tomb, but Linzi was able to convince them to rebel against Armag once the party had told them what happened on the battlefield. After defeating the Sister that guarded the entrance, the party walked down the uneven stairs. Each step had an edge sharp enough to cut flesh.

More effort and care had been made to build the inside. Unfortunately, almost all of it went into creating lethal traps for entrants to “prove” themselves worthy of walking the tomb. The air was stale and smelled of blood, ash, and death. Even more bloodstains were splattered on the floors and walls, and corpses littered the halls. Most of the bodies were old bones, but some were fresh. The bodies of Tiger Lord warriors who had accompanied Armag were impaled on spikes, burned to crisps, or splayed out on the ground with stab wounds in their chests.

Katala looked down at the bodies with disgust and outrage. It was the Sepulcher of Forgotten Heroes all over again.

“What ‘great destiny’ could possibly be worth the deaths of your fellow tribesmen?” she asked.

“One built on deception,” Tristian quietly mused.

“Not up for a little bloodshed, chief?” asked Regongar.

“Not all barbarians think endless bloodbaths and meaningless deaths are the best things in the world,” said Katala.

The party made their way through the traps. On the lower floors, the bodies and spirits of the ancient warriors rose and attacked them. Near the end of their journey, a powerful-looking barbarian spirit with hollow, black eyes and white hair stood in their way.

The shade bade Katala to show her worth. He listened with rapt attention as Linzi recounted Katala’s triumphs over the Stag Lord and Vordakai, but when she got to Trobold, the ancient barbarian shook with rage.

“You let Tartuk live.” His tone was both mocking and furious. “You weak, pathetic cow. You are unworthy to approach Armag’s Tomb.”

The shade took up arms, his greatsword held high and his hollow eyes blazing as he seemed to grow in size. Katala entered a rage and charged him. Everyone else joined the fray. Katala’s flaming glaive clashed with the gigantic sword, and with the help of her comrades, they were able to beat back the ancient barbarian until he dissolved into smoke.

“Idiot,” said Katala. “I measure my strength based on how many I save, not how many I kill.”

The party approached a giant stone door. They heard voices coming from the other side.

“Lies…Armag’s entire life, a lie! Armag is not Armag! The sword says _it_ is Armag! The sword—it calls Armag and impostor! What now?! What to do? Who is Armag now?”

“Hush, my boy,” whispered the last Sister. “Calm. You really are Armag. There have been no lies, but your soul has slept in this sword for so long…it just doesn’t recognize you! It will soon, though, and everything will be all right.”

“Stop. Lying! Armag is not even Armag anymore! was never Armag in the first place! Armag is like the eight mothers now—no name, no tribe…no destiny! What’s left now? Only REVENGE!”

The party heard the sound of a blade tearing through flesh. Katala ordered the party to call upon whatever magics they could to aid in the battle. As soon as they were ready, Katala and Regongar burst through the door. They arrived just in time to see the Sister’s corpse fall off a blood-stained greatsword. Corpses of Tiger Lord warriors recently killed littered the room around Armag, betrayed by their chieftain. Katala and the warlord locked eyes and flew into combat.

Katala and Armag flew into a rage and attacked one another. Her flaming glaive met the dread Ovinrbaane. Katala could _feel_ the malice and bloodlust coming from Armag’s blade, as if the soul inside screamed at both her and Armag to kill one another. All around them, more of the ancient dead rose and attacked the rest of her party. Armag was formidable, and that sword was definitely giving him power as it cried for her death, but she was also boosted by spells that made her stronger, faster, and nearly indestructible.

As they fought, dark memories flooded Katala’s mind: the dead soldiers from Brevoy, Armag’s fellow Tiger Lords, who he had led multiple times to their deaths, and the war Armag brought to her people. It was Armag’s doing. Armag caused all this death. Ovinrbaane pulsed with a dark energy. She needed to kill him. She needed to _kill_ …

 _Once she was done here, she would_ kill _everyone who would threaten the barony._

Hunter got in a lucky bite, tearing into Armag’s hamstring. Katala buried her glaive into his chest. It didn’t cut through his heart, but it was very close, and she could smell his flesh burning. Armag fell over as she yanked it out of him. Ovinrbaane still pulsed as it was knocked out of his hand. She held the polearm over him and thrust it downwards, but Armag caught it by the shaft just below the blade. He yelled something as the two of them wrestled with the weapon, but Katala didn’t care. She wanted vengeance. She him to never bother her again.

She wanted to _kill_.

“Katala, stop!” yelled Tristian.

“Not now,” she growled.

“Enough,” said Tristian. “He’s surrendered. Please hear what he has to say before you kill him.”

It was then that Katala realized that Armag had been trying to get her attention. The large sword’s pulsing weakened, and Katala’s rage receded. She pulled her glaive away.

“Stand,” she commanded. “We need to talk.”

With great difficulty, Armag managed to pull himself up. As he did, his eyes fell on the bodies of his tribesmen. He held his hand over the burned wound on his chest.

Katala questioned him on what he was doing and who the Defaced Sisters were. He had been their pawn, just like Tristian had been, stolen as a child and raised to believe that he was the Armag of legend. Ekun and Tristian expressed sympathy, and, though what Armag had done was beyond horrible, he also expressed remorse over the deaths of his fellow tribesmen and disillusionment and disgust over the cruelty of the ancient Armag.

“What will you do if I let you go?” asked Katala.

Armag looked down at Ovinrbaane. “The soul trapped in this sword…his power became his curse. But the sword’s curse brought Armag power, too. His rage burned away all lies, burned away false destiny. Armag sees things clearly now. Armag will create his own destiny. A living soul is stronger than any ancient dead man! The ghost in this sword can whisper whatever he likes—he will never dominate Armag again!”

“You’re free then,” said Katala. “Go, make your own destiny.”

“The one holding Armag’s life in her hands didn’t take it,” said Armag. “This cannot be forgotten! Let us fraternize!” Armag picked up Ovinrbaane and ran his hand along its edge before offering a hand to Katala.

Katala looked at the horrid thing for a moment before she reached out and cut her own palm on its blade. It pulsed again at the taste of her blood, but she paid it no mind. It was just an old soul. “Brother and sister,” she said.

“Brother and sister,” Armag echoed.

“Turning an enemy into a friend and giving him hope…I believe Sarenrae herself smiled at your deeds today, Katala,” said Tristian.

After Armag left, the party gathered what remaining treasures they could from the tomb. The exited the crypt to a large crowd of Numerians arguing among themselves. The air was thick with their shouting, and many were already throwing punches at each other. Armag was off to the side. A circle of muscle-bound warriors protected him from the equally furious barbarians who wanted his head.

Katala cupped her hands to her face. “Everyone, quiet!”

The barbarians stopped to look at her. Apparently, they were what was left of the Tiger Lords. Without a chieftain, they didn’t know what to do next. Many wanted to kill Armag for what he had done, and just as many stayed loyal to him.

“Since these are your lands, or will be soon, perhaps you should decide the fate of those staying here,” said one of the barbarians.

Tristian leaned in. “This is a chance for healing, to make things right. I suggest you don’t let this opportunity go to waste.

Katala looked over at the expecting barbarians and sighed.

“I will allow anyone from the Tiger Lords to stay on my lands, if you wish,” she said. “Armag will continue to lead. He is my sworn brother and has redeemed himself in my eyes. He will stay.”

Half the tribe looked disgruntled and packed up for Numeria while the other half cheered with relief. Katala addressed Armag.

“I’m giving you this other chance,” she said. “But if you lead your people to their deaths again, I will kill you.”

After saying goodbye, she and her party walked away. Tristian ran up to her.

“It was a great thing you did,” he said.

She squeezed his hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know Armag's not the best choice in the long run, but I really liked the whole sworn siblings thing. Besides, I can never get Amiri to beat him when I'm playing Katala. I guess it's because Katala automatically gets the best barbarian gear (and more attention from me).


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long. No major plot developments really happened, and I tried not to make it a slog to read.

Hurts.

Hurts.

Bleeding. Emptiness pouring out of her like black ichor oozing from the hole in her heart.

Why?

She couldn’t love, so why did this hurt so much?

Nyrissa hated that feeling. She hated longing without satisfaction. She hated missing something without ever having experienced the joy of possessing it. She hated wanting, aching for something she will never have.

She hated that she could never hate that infuriating pet of hers. And there was no reason for her to feel this way. Her Hound had been chasing prey throughout the Stolen Lands, filling her Apology with numerous grains. Whether the dear baroness lived or died, she served Nyrissa’s plans. There was no reason for Nyrissa to feel anything towards her.

It wasn’t fair. Why wasn’t she numb? Why did these remnants of her broken heart remain?

_Seek it. Hunt for it. Lust for it._

That was what they wanted, wasn’t it? The ones who cursed her. To break and humiliate her but to also leave a piece of her pride, her ambition so that she would pursue her redemption with the same fervor that she had tried to claim her own kingdom.

Was that why, despite her hollowness, something about Katala _resonated_ with her? To see her Hound ascend to queendom awoke something inside her: bitter memories, sorrow over her own fate, and yes, a thread of envy at seeing another achieve something that she had once wanted so badly.

Nyrissa cried and wailed as she started throwing things around her room. Not a single tear fell from her eyes.

 

When Katala and the others made it back to Tuskdale from Armag’s Tomb, there was very little time before the coronation. Tristian’s and Valerie’s subordinates had already finished most of the preparations since they party had come back from the battle at Glenebon, and Ekun’s deputy was ready to deploy the extra guards. Even so, Tristian found that he had much to do. Katala wanted a grand celebration, to fill the capital with song and drink, a city-wide festival to celebrate her trials and victories.

Katala deserved it. Though the danger Nyrissa posed was still on the horizon, the baroness—soon to be queen—had overcome everything the Stolen Lands had thrown at her. Now, more than ever, Tristian had hope that Katala would defeat the nymph once and for all.

Tristian had been blessed when Katala came to the Stolen Lands. Truly, she was an amazing woman: strong, proud, and beyond merciful. With everything that was going on, it was almost insane how much he needed her. With Nyrissa’s lie exposed, he now had no idea what happened to his divinity or how to get it back, the kingdom was still in danger from the nymph’s plans, and there was still a lot to do to rebuild after the war with the Tiger Lords. Yet, Tristian couldn’t stop thinking about her. Couldn’t stop wishing that he could go back to when he had betrayed her in Vordakai’s Tomb, though he knew it was impossible.

The day of the coronation was beyond busy. In the castle, servants rushed to get everything cleaned and the decorations and food set up, knights and nobles rushed around in attempt to position themselves to get the new queen’s ear, delegations came from the surrounding lands bearing gifts and proposals. Every room in the castle was full with visitors, and Katala was swarmed by her advisors and visitors. The poor baroness looked like she was on the verge of a rage, and half the time, Tristian worried that she would decide to just barrel past them and run from the castle.

Finally, everyone was cleared from the throne room except for Katala herself, Linzi, Jhod, and the guards. Tristian hid in the shadows behind a column. He guessed that he probably shouldn’t be here, but he had to get her alone. He listened as Linzi excitedly rambled about this day. There was so much hope in the air that he couldn’t help but smile.

 

“All right then, now we can finally start celebrating!” said Linzi. Katala didn’t think her friend had kept silent for the whole day. “It’s just so incredible. I’m so excited: a new kingdom is about to appear—right here before my very eyes! It’s long overdue, if you ask me: my book is desperately lacking in episodes where the heroes are properly rewarded!”

Jhod cut in. “Shush, girl, stop babbling, would you? You’ve been hammering our ears for long enough! It’s time to let others speak.

“Well, Katala, I didn’t expect to live long enough to witness this: the Stolen Lands have finally gained a proper queen! Now, after the other monarchs have recognized you, no one will challenge your right to the throne…”

“Uh huh.” Katala leaned on the armrest of her throne, pretending to pay attention to the priest. She felt bad, seeing that Jhod was still Tristian’s friend even after the betrayal and all that, but she and Jhod never saw eye to eye on pretty much anything. He was too stodgy and traditional in Katala’s opinion, and she was sure that he was constantly frustrated with how she ran her kingdom.

Jhod sighed and shook his head. “All right, that’s enough idle talk. I can see Linzi’s getting antsy.”

The halfling bard nearly jumped with excitement. “That’s it, the ceremony is prepared. I’ll wait for you outside—brace yourself and emerge in full splendor! The coronation will commence as soon as you arrive at the square.”

With that, Linzi and Jhod bowed and took their leave. Jhod strode to the doors steadily while Linzi half jogged to make it out the doors.

As soon as they were gone, Katala took a deep breath. She looked down at Hunter, who was curled up next to the throne. The dog looked up at his mistress as soon as he sensed that she was paying attention to him.

Katala knocked on the armrest. “All right, boy. Let’s do this!” She stood up and smoothed out her armor. It had been freshly cleaned, the chain links polished to a glisten. Her footsteps resounded across the grand hall as she confidently strode towards the large double doors at the end. Hunter got up and trotted alongside her, his massive paws padding loudly on the stone floor as he kept in step with his mistress. Her heart raced. She was about to become queen! Who would have thought?

She caught sight of Tristian as she was about to approach the door. His pale complexion and white robes almost made him look ghostly in the shadows. As he walked towards her, closer to the fire, his cheeks became more red, giving him a more lively look. His face looked still and calm, but Katala could sense a little bit of nervousness simmering beneath. She felt relaxed when she saw him.

“Your Highness,” he addressed her.

Katala chuckled. “Well, technically it’s still Your Grace.”

Tristian laughed softly. “If accuracy is a kingly virtue than you are more than ready for the title.”

“What’s going on?” asked Katala.

Tristian quickly composed himself. When he spoke again, it sounded almost a little rehearsed, but Katala found it endearing that he might be a little nervous right now. “You are on the verge of a great fate, Katala. I am happy to have been a part of it, even if my role in your advancement was two-faced. We have been through so much together…and I realize that without you, I would be dead. Or worse, I continue to serve Nyrissa, who tied me down with her lies. I am sorry I had to deceive you for so long, but there were things I was sincere about.”

Katala’s heart raced even more. Oh, she knew where _this_ was going, and she was loving the hell out of it.

“I know I have no right to ask you for anything,” Tristian continued. “I know I should be grateful that you let me stay near. But I will never forgive myself if I do not ask…” He took another step closer. “Now that hypocrisy and lies are in the past, you gave me another chance. Will you another chance to _us_?”

Katala let out a long humming sound as she was unable to contain her excitement. She wrapped her arms around him and picked him up before squeezing the living daylights out of him.

“Yes!” Katala exclaimed as she rocked Tristian back and forth. Next to her, Hunter barked and jumped around. “Yes, yes, a thousand times yes!”

She eventually put him back down. Tristian was completely out of breath, and he had to put his hand on her shoulder to steady himself.

“I swear,” he breathed out. “I will never get accustomed to this.”

Katala laughed. “You better, ‘cause you’ll be dealing with this for a long time, Featherbutt.”

He let out another laugh. “I was going to say more, but this was a very welcome interruption.”

She shrugged. “What can I say? I don’t follow plans very well.”

He laughed weakly. He became calm again before taking her strong, calloused hands in his soft and graceful ones. “I promise…no, I swear, if you wish I would give my life for you. No more lies, no more deception, just the truth, just…”

He brought his lips to her knuckles and kissed tenderly. When he pulled away, his blind eyes were nearly brimming with tears.

“Go on,” he said as he started to pull away. “Your subjects await, as does your fate…”

“Tristian, wait.” Katala squeezed his hands and pulled him closer. “I feel like we just found each other again, and I’m not ready to let go of you just yet.”

Tristian smiled and pulled her into an embrace. It felt like holding sunlight in her arms: warm, bright, and weightless. They turned their faces towards each other, and they kissed. She entwined her fingers in his long, wispy hair and held him close.

At last, they pulled away.

“May Sarenrae bless you,” said Tristian.

 

Katala practically threw open the large double doors as she marched outside. Then, she stopped. The huge throng of people that had gathered outside the castle stopped chattering and pushing their way forwards and looked up at the baroness. The capital was filled with silence as everyone waited with baited breath for what would happen next.

“Baroness, what took you so long?” asked Linzi. She was excitedly clutching a large newly-scribed scroll in her hands. “Everybody has been waiting for you!”

“Sorry,” Katala whispered, adjusting her large fur mantle. “I got caught up in something.”

Linzi’s hands nearly trembled as she opened her scroll. The parchment was filled with scribblings, cross-outs, and notes in the margins. “I couldn’t find anything that resembled a coronation protocol for the Stolen Lands, so I took the liberty of penning one myself. Don’t worry, I did the best I could!”

“I’m sure you’ll do great!” said Katala.

Linzi cleared her throat and turned to the crowd.

“Citizens of the Kingdom! Ladies and gentlemen!” The bard amplified her voice with magic. Her speech carried out across the city center and beyond. “It is with great excitement and indescribable awe that I, Linzi, official chronicler of the hero who stands beside me, hereby declare the beginning of a scared ceremony—the coronation of the first legitimate ruler in the history of the Stolen Lands! By the power of the representatives of the other royal houses, who recognize her as their equal, and according to the will of the people, who have accepted her rule, she now ascends the throne, which has been waiting empty for so long, for such a worthy ruler!

“My fellow citizens! I hereby introduce Katala, your queen and undisputed leader! Now she stands before you, ready to accept your will! Everyone who has gathered here—are you ready to swear fealty to your new ruler?”

“I swear,” Ekun spoke up from his position alongside the guards.

After him, various other citizens started shouting their pledges of loyalty. The cries of the crowd became deafening. A few citizens threw flowers over the line of guards that stood between them and the castle.

“Long live the queen!” shouted Valerie.

Off to the side, Katala could hear Jubilost mutter, “I am not subject to anyone, so I can’t swear fealty, but I have nothing to say against a queen such as this.” He cleaned his glasses, feigning indifference, but Katala could swear she saw a smile on the author’s face.

“Yeah, yeah, sure,” said Amiri. “How long are you going to wag your tongues? It’s time we start feasting in the chief’s name!”

“So, it’s decided,” said Linzi. “And now…” She turned to Katala, rolling down the scroll in her hands. “It’s your turn, Your Highness.” She cleared her throat again. “Into your hands we commend our lives, and humbly request you address the fate that awaits us under your rule. How do you intend to rule this land and its people? With benevolence and care for those who suffer, or with strength and severity for the unworthy?”

Katala looked out at the crowd. The city center was packed. Tents and stalls were set up for the festivities. The crowd started right at the line of guards outside the castle then went passed the outer ends of the city center and right into the city, filling the streets and alleyways between the houses. Right inside her circle stood members of her party and her council. All eyes were on the queen. The city itself held its breath.

“I will not deny help to anyone in trouble who comes to me for aid,” Katala said. Her already loud voice was amplified further with magic. It carried across to all who could see her.

“Will you honor the old ways and traditions, which spread through these lands long before your time, and will you abide its laws, which all accept?” asked Linzi.

Katala scoffed. “I don’t need any outdated traditions or stupid laws! I’ll rule by what’s best for the people, and that’s that!”

“And finally,” said Linzi, “what will be the motto under which you shall rule? Proclaim it now for us to witness, and we shall etch this solemn moment into our hearts!”

Oh, shit! She forgot about the motto. Fuck. Well, how was she supposed to remember with all the fighting and political nonsense that has been going on?

“Um…” Katala looked down at Tristian. The deva’s face was pointed towards her, his clear eyes unfocused. His joy and excitement added to his inner radiance. The sun shone on him in such a way that he almost seemed to glow. His robes and hair reflected a dim golden light.

“Mercy…before…Law?” said Katala. “Yeah, that’s it! Mercy before Law!”

“Well now…” Linzi turned back to the crowd. “Esteemed gentlemen! Fair ladies! The ceremony is complete, and now the long-awaited moment has arrived! Let us bow together and witness this solemn moment! The crown!”

Katala went down on one knee as Linzi lifted the crown off a cushioned box that a page held out for her. The bard struggled a bit with the heavy domed golden helm. It was adorned with ornately-crafted spikes and bright red jewels. Chainmail of the same gold hung off the back and sides. One of Katala’s women at arms gathered the queen’s thick, dark hair and covered her head in a tight woolen hood. Only then did Linzi place the crown on Queen Katala’s head.

The crowd in front of the castle cheered as she rose. People shouted and clapped and whistled and jumped for joy. Flowers and ribbons were thrown every which way. Bottles of wine and mead and whatever else opened. Octavia jumped excitedly into Regongar’s arms as the latter threw his fist in the air and bellowed. Valerie stood proudly at attention. Tristian beamed and clapped loudly. Kalikke whistled and applauded. Harrim shook his head and muttered something dark as he stroked his beard. Jubilost frantically took notes. Amiri hollered and jumped in the air. Ekun managed to smile.

Linzi tugged frantically at one of Katala’s trouser legs. “Speech, Your Highness!” she whispered. “According to tradition, we need a speech!”

“Fine, I’ll speak,” said Katala.

Linzi clasped her hands together. “Ladies and gentlemen!” she called out. “Her Highness wishes to give a speech!”

The cheers quickly died down as everyone paid attention to the new queen.

“Brothers and sisters!” Katala shouted. “The essence of the Stolen Lands is freedom! No longer shall the powerful dominated the weak! Is sweat to defend your freedom to my last breath! I will make sure goodness prevails every time! Nothing will stop us on our way to a life of happiness and prosperity. We’ll create a state where there’s no room for evil, poverty, or sorrow!”

Some people in the crowd grinned sarcastically or rolled their eyes, but a vast majority of her subjects cheered. Hunter barked and jumped around, wagging his large tail.

“My goodness, Your Highness!” said Linzi. “I always knew you were a woman of many talents, but your gift of eloquence is without equal!”

Katala laughed as she squared her shoulders and put her hands on her hips. “I have no idea what you mean, but I am pretty awesome!”

The festival that came after was one that would be told for generations. Drink poured freely from the casks, songs and plays portraying Katala’s many victories were performed throughout the capital, drawings and portraits of the queen were sold and displayed everywhere. There was music, dancing, and a large feast with big game meat, large cheesewheels, cakes, puddings, and fruits. The people honored the queen with horse races, drinking contests, and boxing matches. Katala herself got in on some of these contests and won every time. Katala loved every moment of it.

She even managed to grab Tristian for a dance or three. Even with everything going on, he seemed to be in a wonderful mood. Katala will find a way to beat Nyrissa, but right now, they will enjoy the festivities.

 

Nyrissa still remembered the last time she felt so attached to someone other than her Sisters. To the naïve, yet headstrong nymph she had once been, Count Ranalc had been like a prince from a storybook: handsome, cunning, charming, and full of confidence. The Eldest had come to her when her Thousandbreaths was still in its infancy, long before she would dream of making it a true kingdom. He and Nyrissa had spent many enchanted nights together. He had never got angry when Nyrissa told him about the injustices of the Eldest and how the other fae were forced to live by rules they had no hand in making. He listened to her every impassioned speech, showed her all the wonderous places of the First World that she had never seen.

Looking back, Nyrissa should have realized what this Eldest was really doing. It was after she had been cursed that she had realized that the other Eldest had banished Count Ranalc to the Plane of Shadow. At that moment, she had felt no heartbreak, no anguish, only rage. When _they_ took away her capacity to love, she could finally see the Count’s true intentions: it had all been a game to him. He had encouraged her dreams, helped her rise to power, all as an experiment, a trick on his fellow Eldest. That her entire rebellion had been a game to him, that in the end she had meant so little to him hurt more than what the Lantern King had done.

So close. Only two grains of dust remain: the Hound and the Peacock. One way or another, they will both fall: one to the other, and the other to her. Their kingdoms were merely games to her, just as her was a game to _them_.

 

Once the joy from the coronation had died down, there was a lot of work to be done. Tuxony had to formally declare its independence, Glenebon had to be claimed, and the attacks coming from Bald Hilltop continued, though now Tristian could tell Katala and Jhod everything he knew about Nyrissa’s incursion. Even so, he was no more powerless to put a stop to them than he had been when the attacks had started.

Jhod, poor Jhod, Tristian’s dearest friend who had come to the Stolen Lands seeking redemption and who had been deceived into leading Katala to the Temple of the Elk. The patient, despairing look on the old priest’s face when Tristian had told him the truth had been unbearable. Jhod forgave him, but Tristian could tell that it would take some time for him to come to terms with what had happened.

Tristian had to answer so many questions about Nyrissa. Unfortunately, he could tell them little more that what Katala had found out already. Nyrissa was a very secretive creature and trusted no one.

Katala continued to ordered her people to research the curses of the Stolen Lands, almost to the point of obsession. She spent every resource she could spare in this endeavor. Academics were not the new queen’s strong suit, but she still read every report and listened to every explanation Harrim and Octavia brought before her.

Tristian went to the grand cathedral every day to work with Harrim on researching a possible curse that he had been placed under. After all their prayers and studies and assessments, the priests could not find any evidence that Nyrissa had cursed him. What they did find, however, was that Nyrissa had a strange power over beings who had lost something vital to themselves, which may be key to discovering how her own curse worked.

Katala was excited for the progress they had made, but Tristian’s heart sank even further. Even though he knew that Nyrissa had not been responsible for his fall, he had hoped that the priests would have found some hint as to what had caused him to turn mortal. He had been under Nyrissa’s power for some time, but, if the priests’ conclusion was true, then the gaes must have been placed on him _after_ he had become mortal, if “beings who had lost something important to themselves” was anything to go by. The last thing Tristian had remembered before succumbing to Nyrissa’s sleep spell, he had still been a deva, but his confrontation with the nymph on the mortal plane had only lasted a brief moment. She had subdued him before he had even known it. He had no idea when he could have fallen from grace.

“We’re getting closer,” Katala said as she and Tristian walked out of the last meeting with Harrim. “If we could just find out more about her punishment, then maybe we can…”

“Perhaps you should spend your resources elsewhere.” Tristian hadn’t meant to cut her off so sharply. “I know Nyrissa. I know how she manipulates people. I would hate for her to use your kindness against you. Too much is at stake.”

“Haven’t you been saying over and over again that you barely knew anything at all?” asked Katala. “That not even her Sisters knew what she was planning?”

“I…” Tristian sighed. “Nyrissa has destroyed so many kingdoms, ruined so many lives without remorse. We can’t let this happen to your kingdom.”

“Well what do you expect me to do?” asked Katala. “Kill her with my army? She’s all the way in the First World somewhere where we can’t get to her.

“Like you said,” she continued. “She’s killed probably hundreds of armies and kingdoms before. Learning more about her curse may be the only way to stop her.”

Tristian lowered his head. “I’ve pleaded her for mercy many times.” He was trembling; he almost felt cold. “None of the screams from her victims ever moved her, and she never shed a tear for any ally she lost or even the deaths of her own Sisters. Nyrissa is a creature that knows nothing of mercy or compassion or…”

He choked up, unable to say anything more. Katala walked over and embraced him, pulling him close. Tristian leaned against her, kept steady by her strong frame.

“Tristian,” said Katala. “Putting strategy aside, on a moral level, do you think we should redeem Nyrissa?”

If she had asked him that question years ago, before his fall, Tristian would not have hesitated to answer. Even now, from all of Sarenrae’s teachings, he knew that his answer should have been a resounding “yes”. And yet, he could not bring himself to say it. For the first time in his very long existence, he didn’t _want_ someone to be redeemed.

Was this what it was like to hate someone?

The realization filled him with such despair that he froze. Though he had fought against many beings that were beyond hope, killing them had always filled him with sorrow.

Not now, though. Now, he felt that atonement was too good for Nyrissa. Letting her go unpunished felt wrong.

He wasn’t supposed to feel this way. All beings deserved a chance to atone for the wrongs. As one of Sarenrae’s divine servants she should know that. He unworthy of Her light.

“I…I don’t know…” he responded.

Katala frowned worriedly. “Come on.” She put her arm around him and led him to one of the private sitting areas in the castle.

“What’s wrong?” she asked as she sat him down.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I know Sarenrae would want to show mercy to all living creatures, but some part of me…for Nyrissa, I cannot…”

“Shh.” She held him once more. “It’s okay.”

“I’m such a failure,” said Tristian. “I shouldn’t be feeling this way.”

“Hey.” Katala grabbed him by the shoulders and pushed him away a bit so that she could look into his eyes. Her grip was firm and strong, but also steadying and reassuring. “Your feelings are completely valid, even if I don’t agree on what we should do about Nyrissa. You’ve been through a lot, and we all have our breaking points.”

“But I’m a deva. We’re supposed to put aside our feelings and desires in service to our divine masters.”

“That sounds…a little deranged,” Katala said slowly. “I mean that can’t be what Sarenrae expects of you. If the gods wanted mindless tools to carry out their bidding, they would create…well…mindless tools.”

Tristian fell onto her shoulder. “I don’t know what my Lady expects of me anymore.”

Katala rubbed his back. “I know.”

 

Katala couldn’t fault Tristian for feeling the way he did. Trauma could burden any heart; there was no shame in that. She would keep researching curses—she had always intended of finding a way to save Nyrissa—now she knew not to involve Tristian anymore.

She kept the necklace made from Nyrissa’s hair as well as the cutting from the Everbloom Flower: two trinkets that everyone else had forgotten under the mountain of disasters and dangers the kingdom had to deal with. No one had ever found her hiding spot, and she never took them out.

Octavia finished her research on the Defaced Sisters. It seemed that curses could be resisted, at least to an extent, and victims under the power of the same curse could vary in how much power that curse had over them.

The builders that Katala and Maegar had hired to clear out the ruins of Lostlarn Keep had found strange magical energies coming from a room that they had uncovered. Katala assembled the party immediately and accompanied Maegar to the keep. To their astonishment, they had found that his old general and lover was not only still alive, but that she had been cursed to fight a never-ceasing horde of monsters without food or rest. After Katala and Maegar released her from the curse, closed the portal, and brought the general back to the capital, the half-elven ranger whose name was Irissil told them something very troubling: Vordekai awakening had not been an accident. The Horned Hunter, Nyrissa’s second in command, had lured Willas Gunderson to the Cyclope’s ancient tomb. To what purpose, neither Irissil nor Maegar nor Tristian could say.

The new kingdom grew much in the following months. Tuskdale became a sprawling city, one to rival Pitax in size if not in splendor. The council grew, and more positions needed to be filled. The former baron, Maegar Varn became Treasurer so that Jubilost could step down and take the position of Minister. The treasury filled with masterful crafts and relics found throughout the kingdom. Tuxony took great leaps in art, magic, and science as well as military and political power. Other countries in the River Kingdoms and beyond were quickly recognizing Tuxony as a true nation. Katala’s subjects prospered greatly and proudly adopted their new cultural and national identity as Tuxons. The queen herself still adventured around the kingdom, digging through ruins and protecting her subjects from hidden dangers. When Glenebon and the rest of Dunsward and the Tors of Levenies had been annexed, many felt that the Stolen Lands had finally been claimed at last.

Of Nyrissa, there was no sign, but neither Katala nor anyone in her council thought for a minute that this was over, and throughout the kingdom, town criers and regional newspapers warned the people about this dangerous fae. None of Katala’s trackers, mages, scholars, or clerics could find any trace of where she might be hiding, and the nymph had not interfered in any of the kingdom’s business. There was one more attack from the Bald Hilltop, one stronger than the last, but nothing came of it, and the invaders had been dealt with.

 

To the west, in a kingdom whose name had come up many times before, but one that has kept largely to itself, King Irovetti watches his neighbor with great interest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who don't know, Count Ranalc is from the Adventure Path. He was an Eldest and lover to Nyrissa, and he got punished as well.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Rushlight Tournament took a lot longer than I thought it would. I replaced some elements of the tournament with elements from the Adventure Path. I hope you like it.

“An invitation?” Katala asked as she was holding court.

Linzi nodded. “Yes, Your Majesty. The Rushlight Tournament is one of the biggest events in the River Kingdoms. Every spring, Irovetti invites rulers from all over the River Kingdoms to participate in a set of contests. It’s quite the spectacle.”

“Huh,” said Katala. “How come I wasn’t invited until now?”

“How would I know what goes on in Irovetti’s head?” asked Linzi. “Maybe he thought you weren’t important enough as a baroness. But now you’re a bona-fide queen! His equal you could say! There’s no reason not to invite you to Pitax’s major event of the year!”

“I feel like I’ve heard Irovetti’s name pop up many times,” said Katala. “Just who is he, exactly?”

“Well…” Linzi thought for a moment. “Imagine a roadhouse full of pirates, mercenaries, smugglers, spies, and other gentlemen of fortune. They’re drinking to their successes, talking business, buying, selling, hiring, choking, burying… Now take this roadhouse and imagine it’s the size of a kingdom…that was Pitax _before_ Irovetti.

“Now imagine some unknown bard enters the roadhouse, pulls off a few shady deals, and suddenly becomes its owner. Everything is the same as it was, but now the walls are covered in portraits of the owner, a brass band plays music every night, a juggler with a pet bear walks around the room, gnome strippers dance on the tables, barmen sell a variety of racy substance from Numeria beyond its beer…That’s Pitax now.”

“Could this be a trap?” Katala asked.

“It’s possible. This is Irovetti we’re talking about,” said Linzi. “But I doubt he will try to have you killed at his own festival—there’re too many dignitaries and representatives about. Most likely he will try to sell you on some fraudulent deal, so keep your eyes open and don’t sign anything.”

Katala leaned back in her throne. “All right. Why not? Let Irovetti know I’m coming.”

“Great!” said Linzi. “Trap or no, it will at least be a lot of fun. You will take me with you, right?”

 

Though Katala sent ahead full delegation of diplomats, entertainers, and traders to the tournament, the queen and her core group—herself, Tristian, Linzi, Regongar, Octavia, and Ekun—did not follow them. Instead, they donned their armor and weapons and traveled around the land to do some exploration and adventuring. They helped Regongar find his birth tribe as they marched through Glenebon. The tribe had been wiped out long ago, and Katala helped Regongar bury what was left of them. The magus would have to find a new way to reconcile with his past and what had happened to him.

Pitax’s countryside was all right. There was enough fertile land to feed its relatively small population, though it wasn’t as rich as Dunsward or some areas of the Narlmarches. Katala stopped by a few villages on the way to the Rushlight. The people in the country either liked Irovetti or were indifferent to him—at the very least, they didn’t think things were that much worse than when the old trade families had ruled. The only forms of art, news, or entertainment they were permitted to see were those that glorified Irovetti.

The villagers did grumble about increased piracy in the region, something that alarmed Katala greatly. Bandits had always been an issue for them, even before Irovetti took over, but recently things have gotten much worse. It frustrated Katala that she couldn’t grab her sword and start hunting them down like she did when she had been a bounty hunter in Brevoy. Linzi reminded her that Irovetti could see it as a sign of aggression. In a lower voice, Linzi told her about rumors that she had hears that some of these bandits and pirates might “belong” to Irovetti, and attacking them would do no favors for Tuxony.

 

The party saw, heard, and smelled the Rushlight Tournament long before they actually arrived. Huge colorful tents clustered along the bank of the Rushlight. The smell of ale, bread, spices, and sizzling meat comingled with the odors of vomit, sweat, smoke, and cheap perfumes. Juggling acts, magic shows, games of card and dice, puppet shows, dancing bears, and so much more were on display. Processions from all over the River Kingdoms came to display their skills, sell their wares, make alliances, and participate in contests. It was loud, bright, and garish, and Katala actually kind of liked it. She couldn’t’ wait to show them what Tuxony was made of!

Irovetti approached Katala just as the group caught up with the Tuxon procession. The king of Pitax was a heavyset man with greasy black hair and beady dark eyes. He had a thick layer of powder on his face, and his expensive doublet had winestains on it.

“Welcome, my crown-bearing sister.” Irovetti enveloped Katala in a bearhug. Underneath his expensive perfume, he reeked of sweat and wine. “Welcome to my home. Stuff yourself! Drink! Be my guest! You’ve proved yourself in combat as well as matters of state—let’s see how you do at having fun.”

Katala chuckled as she awkwardly patted his back. “Hey Irovetti! We only just met—are you already checking where you should stick your dagger?”

“And a sharp tongue as well.” He pulled away, laughing.

“Here’s the deal…” said Irovetti. He gave a summary of what they were to expect from the competitions. There was to be a fisher’s triathlon, a boasting contest, and finally a drunken joust. Outside the tournament, there would be the usual entertainments and foods. At the end of the festival, Irovetti would hold a grand feast where he would announce the winner, which would then be followed by a fireworks show.

“Then we just drink until morning or find a tent to crawl into—your own or someone else’s, depending on your luck,” Irovetti continued. “Though a knockout such as yourself would always be welcome in my tent.” He eyed Katala’s muscles hungrily.

“Why don’t you knock it off?” Katala demanded, crossing her chest.

Irovetti laughed. “Joking, Your Highness! Just a joke.”

“One more thing,” he continued. “I’ll have to seal your sheath. This is a peaceful celebration after all, and bullies will be kicked out immediately. Doesn’t matter if it’s a king who decided to kick up a row or just a shopkeeper. So behave yourself, and don’t start any fights while you’re here.

“well I have to go. If you need anything, talk to Nunzio Arpaia. He’s my master of ceremonies, so he’s responsible for organizing this mess. Have fun!”

Katala snorted as Irovetti sauntered off. Tristian stood next to her.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

Katala smiled at him. “Yeah,” she said. “Let’s go walk around. I want to get in as much as possible before the actual tournament starts.”

They barely started walking around when a very drunk and barrel-chested young man bumped into Katala. He turned towards her and glared, his breath rank with alcohol.

“Watch yourself!” he yelled. “Who do you think you are, you pig?! You tramped on my foot and ruined my doublet, hic! I’m gonna… I demand satisfaction!”

Katala was just about to tell him off when Tristian stepped forwards and got the man’s attention. “You’ve made a mistake. Move along,” said Tristian. Katala could not see his eyes underneath the shadow of his hood, and Tristian’s mouth was set in a fine, tight line. It occurred to her that Tristian is actually rather tall and not quite as lithe as he looked.

“Wha-a-at?” said the drunkard. “Who the hell are…” As soon as he saw Tristian’s face, the other man seemed to sober up. He backed away, despite being much bigger than Tristian. “Oh… S-Sorry… My mistake…” He turned around and stumbled away.

Katala kissed Tristian on the cheek. “Look at you being all protective.”

Tristian put his arm around her waist. “I’m trying to be. I won’t let anything bad happen to you at the festival.”

 

Tristian stayed by her side the entire walk. The festival was full of wonder and danger: so many people to meet and experiences to try. Tristian wanted to make sure that Katala could enjoy herself freely while she was here. As they went through the stalls, Tristian was ever alert for pickpockets or other bullies trying to start something. Nothing major happened; Tristian could usually ward such people off with a stare.

With the loss of his sight, all of Tristian’s other senses were all the more overwhelmed. The smells and the sounds and the heat became almost too much to bear, but he had also never had the opportunity to experience something like this up close. He remembered flying over such festivals, watching, but never getting too close.

Katala seemed to have a lot of fun. She helped Octavia play a few pranks on the merchants, entered (and won) a few minor contests, and partook in much of the food and drink. It was wonderful to hear her laugh.

Up ahead, the group overheard some arguing. A guard was arguing with a playwright over how bad things were going in Pitax and that action needed to be taken. As soon as the guard left, the playwright, a young man named Eimar Deschamps enlisted Katala to help fight pirates along the river. Of course, Tristian knew that nothing got Katala riled up like a pirate or bandit attack. The queen of Tuxony agreed to investigate.

“By the way who was that you were talking to?” asked Katala.

Deschamps blushed. “My husband. The finest guard in all of Pitax in my opinion.”

Tristian smiled. “I should have noticed it earlier. Is it now marvelous how love can flourish between anyone?” What was almost as amazing was how fascinated with romance Tristian had become lately.

Katala tightened her hold on him and crushed him against her side. “You mean between a mortal and an angel?”

Tristian felt his face grow warm.

 

Linzi had been absolutely beaming when Katala and the party approached Headmistress Atalia Gitaren. Katala knew her friend had been preparing for that moment. She was going to show off her works and accomplishments in Tuxony. Katala could not have thought of anything better than to have Linzi publish books that Irovetti had banned.

So when Linzi was rebuffed and the truth about her professor revealed, it broke Katala’s heart. Though the bard told her not to let what had happened ruin the tournament for the party, Linzi kept her eyes to the ground.

“Poor Linzi,” Octavia said when Linzi had gone off to use the privy. “I wish there was something we could do.”

Katala looked around. Her eye almost immediately caught on Irovetti’s private pavilion. Of all the large and colorful tents that dotted the patch of land near the bank of the lake, Irovetti’s were the largest and most garish. This cluster of tents had been set up on the top of a substantial hill and could be seen from everywhere in the tournament. It was sectioned off by a makeshift fence, and Pitax Wardens, Irovetti’s finest soldiers, patrolled the perimeter. They were not to let anyone in.

Katala nudged Octavia with her elbow. “I bet Irovetti’s got loads of stuff hidden up there. It might help lift Linzi’s spirits if we ruin his day.”

Octavia grinned from ear to ear. “Sounds like fun. Any ideas?”

“Do you think you could sneak in?” asked Katala. “I don’t think we can get the whole party in.”

“Nothing a few invisibility spells can’t handle,” said Octavia, “and as your Magister, I know my way around numerous magical detections and traps.”

“Take Ekun with you,” said Katala. “Who knows what you’ll find in there.”

The ranger was somewhat reluctant to go, but he did not challenge Katala on this. The wizard and the ranger parted with the group and made their way to Irovetti’s pavilion. The rest of the party told Linzi that they had to take care of kingdom business back at the Tuxon procession.

Katala spoke to some more people at the festival. What she found out about Irovetti was unsettling. What she and Linzi had learned about the abuses at the academy had been bad enough, but the fact that his high priest—a cleric of Calistria of all deities—was disgusted by Irovetti’s lack of regard for the consent of his “partners” was horrendous.

The captain of the guard didn’t like that Pitax had become even more lawless and chaotic once Irovetti had taken over.

Irovetti had brought in Kharne Vereel, getting the city addicted to a dangerous drug.

Stefan Moskoni hinted that Irovetti might be planning something against Tuxony.

She spoke with Gasperre Liacenza. The man certainly had legitimate grievances, what with his family members getting deposed, kidnapped, and taken hostage. However, Katala could not forget that the noble houses of Pitax had been little more than bandits. As loathsome as Irovetti was, Katala had the feeling that a lot of Pitax’s problems had been long-standing issues.

When Octavia and Ekun returned, Octavia was grinning. She handed Katala a small book.

“What is it?” asked Katala. Linzi stood on her tip-toes to take a look.

“A book Irovetti certainly wouldn’t want falling into the wrong hands,” Octavia said. “The author claims to know the ‘true story’ about his rise to power, but there’re about a dozen authors claiming the same thing. This one doesn’t seem to flattering, however, so at the very least this anonymous writer does not seem to be one of Irovetti’s minions.”

Katala read a random line of the first chapter. “Mandalaruccio Belander…wow. Nice work!”

Linzi’s eyes widened. She looked around to make sure no one could hear. “We need to get this back to Tuxony. I wish we could find the author. Could you imagine the look on Irovetti’s face if more copies of this book got passed around?”

“We’ll worry about that later.” Katala closed the book and tucked it away. “Right now we got a tournament to win!”

 

The first event was the fisher’s triathlon. Octavia balked at the thought of competing. The air reeked of fish, mud, and salt. But one of the hard rules of the tournament was that anyone caught cheating would be immediately disqualified, and Octavia was the only one with the skillset they needed in this competition. Octavia huffed, but Katala promised to pay for her next salon trip.

Octavia performed remarkably. In the first round, some of the fish she was carrying “accidentally” found its way on her competitor’s beams, causing them to fall in the mud. For the second round, a tiny blade hidden in a secret pocket helped her escape her ropes. Finally, she successfully came way from the clam-diving contest with the heaviest jar, liberally sprinkled with sand from the tub.

It was a total mess. Cheaters got caught, fish flew everywhere, competitors got into fights…but Octavia emerged from the chaos triumphant and complaining about broken nails and needing a bath.

The boasting contest started straight-forwardly enough. Each contestant shouted their deeds, real and fabricated, to a large audience. Some tried to enhance their performance with magic, some tried to sway the audience using people they had planted into the crowd. The audience cheered and laughed with some, others they booed and threw garbage at.

Annamede Belavarah took the stage for Pitax.

“Just a few years ago, I found myself in the fledgling barony next door,” she began. Katala and Linzi looked at one another. “A great plague of beasts ravaged the land, and our poor baroness was powerless to stop it…”

Belavarah went on, detailing her time in Tuxony, bragging about how she had spent many months there, claiming to have undermined the barony at every turn. She made Tuxony out to be this barely-civilized backwater. The citizens suffered attacks from trolls and monsters while the baroness drank and wandered around her lands. Belavarah went so far as to claim that Katala’s adventures with Vordekai were a clever ploy to grab Varnhold from Maegar Varn. The crowd was completely moved by her performance and applauded her loudly. Katala seethed.

Linzi was up next. She had to think of something quickly. Not only did Annamede paint Tuxony in a bad light, but she had completely stolen Linzi’s thunder. Linzi had intended to regale the audience with tales of Katala’s triumphs and adventures, but it would be very difficult to get the crowd back on board after Annamede’s performance.

Instead Linzi told a tale many among Katala’s court would rather not have repeated: that of how Katala had found the location of the goblin village. Linzi orated the story of how Katala sung the bawdiest goblin songs at the mill and drank three whole barrels of the vilest goblin brew without gagging. The crowd laughed themselves to tears as Linzi recalled Katala’s antics at the mill. Katala laughed the loudest. It didn’t paint Katala in the best light, but the crowd whistled and applauded and threw flowers at Linzi. Tuxony emerged triumphant.

 

The final competition was the drunken joust. A stadium was set up a little ways away from the lake. Wooden stands had been set up around the perimeter. Each other nation, including Tuxony, had its own private box to sit in. Irovetti had his own section at one end of the stadium, decorated with lavish drapes and banners. A long row of stakes with a length of rope hanging off of them served as a tilt.

Katala had decided to compete in this event herself. Not only was she a great warrior, but she was also among the best in the party with horses. After downing three tankards of mead, she mounted her horse, a grand brown and white destrier, one of the finest steeds bred in the Kamelands.

Irovetti rose from his seat in the stands. He used magic to amplify his voice.

“And now for the final competition, the drunken joust!” He smiled and waited for the applause to die down before continuing. “Now forget all you know about the poncy tourneys from the other softer kingdoms. You won’t get any points for knocking your opponent’s shield a certain way or be judged how well your horsemanship is. The last competitor still on horse wins the joust; it’s as simple as that.

“The usual rules for the Rushlight Tournament still apply, of course,” he continued. “No one is allowed to use magic on the field—each and every one of you has been checked for spells and magical items—and do try to keep things relatively peaceful. We all love a good and violent clash of lances on shields, and accidents happen of course, but anyone caught seriously and purposefully attacking their opponents will be disqualified and kicked out of the tournament.

“Let the joust begin!” Irovetti declared.

Katala obliterated the competition. She came at her opponents like a battering ram, charging in, full of rage, and knocking them into the muddy grass below. With each victory she earned, the cheers from the crowd got louder and louder.

The last competitor was Villamor Koth. The hulking barbarian had been Pitax’s champion ever since Irovetti had started his Rushlight Tournaments, and in all that time, he had never lost the joust. Koth jeered as he and Katala faced each in the middle of the field.

“Hey, girly.” Koth grinned, his crooked yellow teeth and foul breath on full display. “Finally crawled out of your mud pit of a kingdom to play with the big boys?”

“Ha!” said Katala. “We’ll see how confident you are when I knock you into the mud.”

Koth clicked his tongue. “Such temper. No wonder your druid fathers kicked you out.”

The fire in Katala’s gut inflamed. “Why don’t you go roll in shit, pig?”

“All right, that’s enough,” Irovetti announced, chuckling. “Let’s get on with the tournament!”

Katala and Koth rode to opposite ends of the field. At Nunzio Arpaia’s mark, the two of them raced to one another down the tilt, lances down and shields up. Katala’s lance shattered on Koth’s shield, but the Pitaxian champion remained on horse.

Koth hadn’t been aiming at Katala’s shield, however. His lance slashed at Katala’s midsection, leaving a large gash on her side.

“What the fuck?!” she shouted, turning her horse around at the end of the tilt.

Koth shrugged. “It’s not my fault you weren’t holding your shield properly.

“What’s going on down there?” Irovetti asked.

Koth sneered. “She’s just missing the sweet, tender love of her war hound.” The crowd laughed.

“He slashed me!” Katala yelled. She had already been furious, but now she was seeing red. She wanted so much to storm over to Koth and show him what’s what.

Irovetti chuckled. “My apologies, Your Highness. Vallimor can get a little overzealous. I’m sure he didn’t mean it—did you, Koth?”

Koth grinned. “Of course not, Your Majesty.”

“Just make sure it doesn’t happen again,” said Irovetti, smirking as he moved to sit back down. The grin that Koth wore on his face made Katala want to punch him.

Before Irovetti could completely make it to his seat, Tristian approached him. Katala hadn’t seen her Councilor move from the Tuxony box, but there he was at Irovetti’s ear, Linzi beside him. She couldn’t hear what they were discussing, but Irovetti’s expression of bemusement slowly turned to one of annoyance. Finally, the king of Pitax addressed the stadium once more.

“Due to concerns raised by certain parties,” he grumbled, “we will take a short respite so that the queen can heal from her wounds. Let no one say that Pitax allowed a royal to come to harm at a peaceful gathering.”

Katala dismounted and stormed off to her side of the field, leaving her horse with one of the grooms. A ground crew immediately began to pick up broken pieces of lance from the ground.

Linzi led Tristian down onto the field. The two of them approached Katala.

“Are you all right,” asked Linzi.

“I’m fine. It’s just a scratch.” Great. Now everyone’s going to talk about how Queen Katala, defeater of the Stag Lord, vanquisher of monsters, and defender of Tuxony stopped a tournament over a minor flesh wound.

Tristian touched her and chanted a spell.

Linzi reached up and touched her hand. “It’s what he does. He likes to rile his opponents up so that they make a mistake or attack him and get disqualified. Especially now when it’s the only way Pitax can win. We’ve won first place in two contests and at least second in this one. Unless Tuxony gets disqualified, we are well on our way to winning the tournament.”

When Tristian finished chanting, he pulled a blue handkerchief out of one of his robe pockets. “I know this tournament is highly unusual, but normally a knight would receive a token from a loved one to wear on the field.” His cream-colored face turned red. “If you wish, I would give you mine, my queen.”

Katala smiled. “Sound’s great. Give it here.”

Tristian tied the handkerchief around her elbow. Koth shouted at them impatiently.

“Are you ready, Your Highness?” he asked.

Katala mounted her horse. Tristian reached up and touched her hand. “Sarenrae bless you,” he said.

Katala and Koth once more faced each other from opposite ends of the field. They lowered their lances and raced towards one another.

Koth lowered his lance to strike underneath Katala’s shield. This time, Katala threw her shield at him and shoved him off his horse, catching him off-guard. He went tumbling down in the mud below, unhorsed for the first time since the Rushlight Tournaments began.

The crowd devolved into an uproar. Though a good number of people cheered her on, there were those who shouted in outrage. Irovetti looked completely sour.

Koth crawled back up. “That bitch attacked me!” he shouted. His face was twisted in an expression that was part anger and part smugness. “She should be thrown out of the tournament!”

“I’m sure Her Highness was just overzealous,” said Linzi, using magic to amplify her voice. The bard made her way to the center of the field, in full view of the whole audience. She addressed Irovetti. “You said so yourself, Your Majesty: this isn’t a normal joust. Whoever’s the last person on horse wins the competition.”

The crowd cheered. Katala held up her lance and did a victory lap around the field on her horse, drumming up more support. Soon the cheering drowned out the detractors. People called her name and threw flowers down at her.

Irovetti addressed the crowd. Koth looked up expectantly at him. The crowd was now chanting Katala’s name. Katala hoped that it would sway his decision.

“The winner of the drunken joust is…” Irovetti held his hand up and paused dramatically. To his credit, he was putting on a very good show. “…Katala of the Stolen Lands!”

Irovetti turned and left his booth as the audience applaused.

Koth’s skin turned red. Veins bulged from his skin, and his eyes were bloodshot. Picking up his lance, he entered a rage and charged at Katala. Katala turned her horse to face him and had her animal rear, kicking at Koth with its front legs.

Suddenly, many shimmering strands of gold light encircled Koth, holding him in place. Koth frothed at the mouth as he struggled against his bonds.

“That is quite enough out of you.” Tristian approached them calmly, but swiftly and decisively, his face shadowed by his hood.

A couple of Pitax Wardens came to pry the lance out of Koth’s stiff fingers. They carried him off the field. His eyes darted every which way. Katala dismounted and strode over to Tristian. She held him tightly and lifted him in the air.

“I did it!” she exclaimed. She twirled him around before putting him down.

Tristian took a breath as he steadied himself against her. “We should get ready,” he exhaled. “I believe Irovetti is going to start the feast soon.”

 

Katala threw her arm around him and led him out of the stadium. Tristian decided not to reveal that he had also cast Bull’s Strength on her when he had been healing her.

 

After everyone bathed, changed, and rested for a few hours, the group made their way back to the stadium. The tilt and jousting equipment had been cleared off. In their place were grand tables with extravagant foods and drinks resting on them. The ground was still muddy, but now alcohol and grease from the foods mixed in with the muck. Guests had to squeeze in where they could find space on the benches. Irovetti sat at his own table at the far end of the field, accompanied by Nunzio Arpaia, and Stefano Moskoni.

The sound of trumpets filled the air, calling everyone’s attention to Irovetti.

“Lords and Ladies, another Rushlight Tournament has come to an end! I’d like to thank all f you who honored tis event with your presence. My friends, I’m happy to see all of you, but I’d like to give a special welcome to one guest who found herself invited here for the first time! Today we had Katala the baroness—no, excuse me, it’s queen now isn’t it?—of a majority of what was once the Stolen Lands! Thank you for coming, my darling—I can call you that, right? I thank you with all my heart.”

Irovetti gave everyone a chance to clap. Katala smiled and waved as all this attention was piled onto her.

“I first learned of her from my friend, Stefano Moskoni. To be honest, his report was less than flattering. Impassable swamps, monsters galloping about, a complete absence of any valuable resources. Nothing more than a dirty hole ruled by another bandit lord, hardly worth my attention—that’s what he wrote back then. I’m so happy that he was wrong.”

Irovetti wasn’t done. He called into question the state of Tuxony’s roads and the fact that the last time she threw a large hunt together, monsters erupted from the servants and devoured the guests.

As he was going on, Linzi pushed something into Katala’s hand. She looked down. It was the Pitaxian signet ring that Tartuccio had tricked her into wearing.

“I know you wanted me to throw this away,” Linzi whispered, “but I wanted to someday throw it in his face.”

“Now seems like as good a time as any,” Katala whispered back. She stood up, holding the ring in the air. “Irovetti, you’re a funny guy,” said Katala. “I also got a story to tell…” She told them about the attack on the Aldori mansion in Restov, how Tartuccio, minion of Pitax infiltrated the adventuring party and let in brigands to attack the manor.

Irovetti cleared his throat. “A most amusing story indeed. Unfortunately, it has little to do with me. True, that rascal Tartuccio was spending my money, but he was acting entirely of his own volition.

“All I really wanted to get at was that the queen of Tuxony is a personage truly as extraordinary as her lands, and I’m happy to see her at this celebration! And now, it’s time to announce the winner of the tournament!

“This year, all three contests were won by guests from one kingdom. I’m not sure what charms, tricks, or divine intervention helped her, but…”

“Hey Irovetti!” Katala called out. “Could you pass the salt?” Well, it was true that they won by trickery, but they didn’t get caught.

The other guests laughed. Irovetti kept his smile on.

“Let’s hear it for the winner!” Irovetti exclaimed. “Katala, if you please. I know you’re not exactly a master of ceremonies, but please try to say something articulate to my guests!”

“I’m sorry if my victory offended you,” said Katala. “It’s hard being this awesome!”

Another round of amiable laughter erupted from the guests. Nunzio Arpaia presented her with an enchanted ring resting on a pillow.

With the ceremony done, everyone started feasting. Katala gorged herself on meats and pastries, and drank heavily of the ale and mead. After that tournament, she was _famished_.

After the feast came the fireworks show. Tristian stood by her, despite not being able to see them. He retired shortly after they were over. Katala and most of the others stayed up to celebrate.

 

Later that night, Tristian awoke to the sound of his tent flaps opening. A person stumbled into his tent and collapsed on top of him. He was about to tell this person that they were in the wrong tend and ask if they could please clear out, but his inner light told him that it was Katala who now lay on top of him. The barbarian was warm and heavy and smelled of the drinks they were serving at the festival. One of her braids caught in his mouth.

“Oh shit,” she slurred, completely and utterly inebriated. She scrambled to lift herself up. She got as far as propping herself up on her elbows before stopping, still on top of him. “Oh, Tris,” she said. “I didn’t see you there.”

Tristian sighed. “Hello, my queen.” Though he couldn’t see, he always had a sense of what direction the sun was in. Dawn was just around the corner.

“I’m just gonna stay here for a few minutes, okay?” said Katala. Tristian didn’t even get a chance to respond before Katala plopped back down on him, unconscious, her arm draped over his chest.

Tristian just sighed and went back to sleep.


End file.
